


A Life to Call my Own

by AyeItzDa_Willooga



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Don't expect most of these tags to be relevant until much later in the fic!, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, NSFW, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Psychological Torture, Read at Your Own Risk, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, There won't be many tags until more chapters are added to avoid spoilers, Torture, Trigger Warnings for basically everything, Unstable Relationships, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-10-12 10:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20562737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyeItzDa_Willooga/pseuds/AyeItzDa_Willooga
Summary: After the suspicious murders of Dexter Vex and Saracen Rue rock Valkyrie and Skulduggery's case, they venture out to find truth amidst the confusion.A strange messenger from the Sanctuary ticks them and China off to the whereabouts of the long-dead Mr Bliss.Now, with Bliss's information of his survival, Skulduggery is second-guessing whether his Dead Men comrades are actually dead - or whether they've been hidden over time.Through a test of strength, self-control and a mysterious murderer laying them a path, Valkyrie and Skulduggery follow along to try and find the Dead Men.*This will change when more chapters are added!*





	1. To Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to my second-ever fic (which so far has more chapters written than my first, hehe)!
> 
> A few things:
> 
> I've dumped the first few chapters on your doorstep today alone, but please note that my uploads will be INCREDIBLY inconsistent.
> 
> The tags and everything are very vague right now - maybe because they're supposed to be!
> 
> Honestly, it's probably predictable.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> PS. I'm an Aussie, so words will have U's and S's (instead of Z's), and may grammatically confuse some readers.

_He had a choice._

_It was right there – a simple vial of clear liquid, to end the pain. His hands were already reaching for it frequently, desperate to set him free. He had that option to lay down, to die – it wasn’t like he was escaping anytime soon._

_Yet, despite the hurt, the feeling of being lost and helpless, he was walking towards the wall again, his bruised and battered hands holding that tiny shovel tightly, and chipping away at the cold cement wall._

_He worked at it for hours, the destroyed material floating in the air as a dust before settling at his feet, as white as that freezing Irish snow. Despite not being outside for around ten years, he found himself missing that frigid air and constant snow or rain._

_He collapsed at the table, a normal feat after those tantalizing years of helpless escape. His hands snaked up to the vial, twisting his fingers around it as the mixture swirled around inside. That question burned in his mind – not for the hundredth time that day – and he scratched his scruffy chin:_

_Do I fight, or give in?_

_A gentle clatter sounded as the vial fell to the floor, sturdy and indestructible, and he curled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth on his heels as he awaited the dark blissfulness of sleep. A light blinded his vision from the left, and he soon felt himself being dragged out, into another dark room. It appeared to be a maze, and he welcomed the familiar weapon that was shoved into his hands, ignoring the words being spoken to him by that voice he’d grown to hate._

_Fight. The answer was always fight._


	2. More than Hearts Hurt

Valkyrie laid a soothing hand on Skulduggery’s shoulder, her jacket flapping in the breeze. That freezing wind was howling loud enough to make her words sound like a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

Skulduggery’s sharp reply was swiped away by the wind and accompanied by his act of shrugging her hand off. Valkyrie sighed and looked out to the pier, the wind whipping her hair around her face. She hugged herself against the cold and crouched next to her partner as she zipped her jacket. They sat for a moment, an uncomfortable silence around the pain, and stared out at the water. It glistened back at them, untroubled by their moods, a beautiful diamond polished perfectly that was gleaming as if to welcome them into its cold spray. Valkyrie chewed her lip, her mind churning with words that her mouth denied permission to say.

She couldn’t remove the images from her mind. The bruised and battered body of the blonde Dexter Vex lying still in his home, his eyes glossed over and his expression of undeniable shock and fear. His hands were singed from overusing his own powers, and his clothes were torn and tattered, leaving him almost naked.

Saracen Rue had been found in a similar way not an hour later – his eyes dull and unseeing, clothes in ruins and expression traumatizing. She’d never known his power, but Skulduggery had said quietly he’d been using it during the struggle.

Being the curious Arbiters they were, Valkyrie and Skulduggery had demanded entrance to both crime scenes. They’d explored, seen the struggles, and uncovered the bodies, all to the deflation of Skulduggery’s good mood.

Boy, it seemed like quite the mistake at that moment.

Valkyrie did her best to shake the memories from her mind, instead turning to Skulduggery and taking his hands in her own.

“I know how much this hurts, but- “

“You don’t though, do you?” Skulduggery lifted his head a fraction to look at her. She regarded him with quiet confusion. ‘You’ve never lost friends or family the way I have. You have no idea how painful it is.”

She winced as he lowered his head again and contemplated her next words carefully. “I’ve come close enough to realize how important they are though. That counts for something at least, don’t you think?”

“It’s not the same.”

Valkyrie paused, looking down at their connected hands. “The Dead Men were all important to you. I understand that, and I know I’ll never replace them. No one will.”

“They were a second family to me, Valkyrie. As good as real family, we were.”

“I get that.” He looked at her, doubtfully, she assumed. “No, I do. Real family or second family, there’s no difference. You were all brothers, in a way. Being in the same place at the same time or being at other ends of the planet made no difference. Being of blood or not – care didn’t factor. You worked as a team and lived as a family. I understand it.”

Skulduggery took his hands back and stood, brushing dirt from his suit. “Understanding means experiencing, Valkyrie. Find a second family for yourself, and –“

“I have a second family,” she huffed, standing to face him. “You – you _are_ my second family. I love you in ways I feel no one would understand, but it sounds…” Valkyrie chewed her words for a minute. “It’s exactly how I’d describe loving another family.”

A gentle cock of Skulduggery’s head was all Valkyrie needed to feel a warmth spreading to her face and stretching her features into a gentle smile. She smirked gently as Skulduggery opened his mouth, before closing it a moment later. The skeleton detective was lost for words.

“I mean that, Skulduggery.”

“Val…”

“I feel safest with you. I enjoy working with you and you’re always welcoming me to stay at your place. If that isn’t family,” she moved in, arms outstretched, “then family is a myth.”

He hesitated a split second, before embracing her, squeezing her tight.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Skulduggery. And they do too, even if they can’t tell you themselves.”

“I know,” he replied softly. “I just miss them.”


	3. Old Friends

_He would soon be finished._

_Almost a decade of sitting around in silence had long since closed over his vocal cords, denying him the luxury of hearing his own voice. He was now in a dark room, gun in hand, and about to face someone._

_Those very human footsteps came from behind him, and he ducked behind the wall, his reflexes slow but existent after all those years. He yearned for his powers to return and mask his footsteps like they used to as he moved back, crouching behind a stone pillar, poking his head out to the figure intruding his space._

_He licked his lips, failing to moisten them with his heavy, dry tongue, and ran a hand along the scars on his head. They were reminders of who he was, and only they kept him sane nowadays. A startled grunt sounded from the intruder’s direction, and he ducked his head back, gun at the ready._

_A blur made him fire from shock, earning another grunt. His heart sounded loud in his ears, barely overbearing the extreme ringing, and he rolled the man onto his back._

_He laughed. He sounded hoarse and old, but he laughed all the same._

_“This,” he rasped, clutching his throat from pain and amazement that his voice still worked, “is some cruel, sick joke.”_

_“It isn’t a laughing matter,” his friend wheezed, clutching his now bleeding shoulder. He dropped his gun and leaned forward, helping to staunch the bleeding._

_“He… he kept us _both_ alive?” he asked quietly._

_“Clearly.”_

_“I saw you die though.”_

_“Your reflection saw _my reflection_ die,” his friend confirmed for him._

_“He kept us alive, and we survived. How we managed, I’ll never know.”_

_“I almost made it out, you know.”_

_He looked at him sharply, confused. “How?”_

_“There was-“ his friend cut off in a coughing fit. “There was – a small shovel, in my room of captivity. I used it to dig out a large hole in the wall. They dragged me out before I finished.” He gave a half-smile. “Some sickening, false glimmer of hope, no doubt.”_

_He choked out another gruff laugh. “Unbelievable.”_

_His friend gave him a light punch on the shoulder, wincing as it sent pain through his injured arm. His eyes were darting around, his good hand now scratching his stubbled chin. He knew what this meant._

_“You saw them too?”_

_“Aye, but was it really them?”_

_He smiled slightly. “Always the tone of doubt with you, huh?”_

_He received a half-hearted shrug in return. “Only one way to find out.”_

_They both clambered to their feet, taking their guns with them as they wandered through the pillars. The entire room was pitch black, save for a tiny, swinging light right in the centre of the maze. They stuck to the left, eventually finding themselves at a doorway blocked off by vertical metal poles._

_He turned and gave his friend a smirk. “Any strength left in those arms of yours?”_

_“A bit,” came the drained reply._

_They crouched, working as one to pry the bars to one side. The two of them and the bars grunted and groaned in the effort, and soon there was enough room for them to crawl their damaged and shrunken bodies through._

_Sticking to the shadows, they continued through winding halls, in search of a reference to help them navigate their way. They spoke little, having had nothing to do for almost a decade, and came to a halt outside a door, barred the same way as the one they’d escaped through._

_He opened his mouth to say something, when shouting sounded from behind the bars. A person blurred past the doorway, being chased by another._

_A gunshot soon followed, a scream directly after. They could hear sobbing now coming from inside the room, drowned out by the sound of footsteps hurrying around the corner towards them._

_They readied their weapons, pointed in the direction of the echoes, and-_


	4. Special Ocasions

Valkyrie shrugged off her coat, leaving it on the back of her armchair. Xena yelped at her, hungry as usual, and she fed her. She showered, the water moulding her thoughts and feelings about the new case.

Vex and Rue were dead, somehow linked to the now notorious “drain-murders” happening around Ireland.

The confusing thing was – their powers hadn’t been drained.

Perhaps they’d been in the killer’s way. Or perhaps they’d fought too valiantly and had escaped the worse fate. She sighed, for she’d never know.

She knew they were linked to those murders because of the initial assaulting weapon used: a Remington Model 31, shot from three hundred metres away, precisely landing between the victims’ right shoulder blade and spine. This shot, with the paralyzing drug Mendosazes, made by mages during the war with Mevolent, paralyzed their right arms completely, and limited movement in the upper halves of their body. It confused her how any of this murderer’s victims had fought them, but as the water around her slowed to a trickle, she heard a loud knock at the door, and decided it best to ponder this another time.

Valkyrie dressed, fancy-casual in her protective clothing, and answered the door to Skulduggery’s façade, a cleanly-shaven man with shoulder-length blonde curls. “Morning,” he crooned, smiling slightly. Xena barked behind her, before powering past to hug the visitor. “Good morning to you too, Xena,” Skulduggery said good-heartedly, leaning forward to pet her.

“A new lead on the case, I take it?” Valkyrie enquired, quirking an eyebrow as Skulduggery petted her dog.

“No. China has asked to see us, is all.”

Valkyrie gave him her best imitation of a startled fish. “A meeting? As in, today?”

“A meeting, as in now, yes.”

She grinned. China never made time for them, so this was a special occasion. “Let’s go then,” she said with excitement, leaning back into her house to grab her jacket, before strolling out towards the Bentley.

“I would, except…”

Valkyrie turned back to him. “Yes?”

“Would you mind…” He motioned to Xena, who was jumping up to him, even after he’d straightened himself out. Valkyrie rolled her eyes and grinned.

“Xena! Down!” she commanded. The dog backed away, her tail wagging in thrill as she pondered off to the back garden. Valkyrie regarded Skulduggery again. “Now, let’s get going. We won’t earn ourselves this opportunity again if we’re late.”

They walked to the car together, but Valkyrie paused halfway.

Skulduggery tilted his head. “Something the matter?”

“Is there a reason you’re wearing your façade right now?”

He didn’t answer, just simply stood for a moment before continuing forward.

“Skulduggery?” He ignored her still and entered the car. She followed suit. “Are you going to answer me, or…?”

They began the journey to the Sanctuary, the usual low rumble from the car’s engine soothing her nerves. She was always somewhat jumpy around China Sorrows. She knew of the woman’s crimes and accusations, and her power was one of intimidation and manipulation.

She was a woman to be feared.

It became clear that Skulduggery was not going to answer her question, so she asked another.

“Did China give any hint as to what this meeting is about?”

He looked at her sideways, his hands tightening around the steering wheel, a subconscious tick indicating moments of stress, confusion, anger, or deep concentration.

She couldn’t begin to guess which it was showing her in that moment.

“I have a hunch from her subtle hints,” he said lowly. “I just hope I’m wrong.”

They pulled into the Sanctuary parking half an hour later, wandering through to China’s chambers in tense silence. Skulduggery knocked thrice, and they entered to China’s weakly smiling features.

She was dressed supremely fancy, a deep green dress that danced at her ankles with each step, her eyes painted a gentle grass-green, and her jewelry shining as emeralds on her form. She appeared stressed however, and despite the concealer, Valkyrie could see rings around her eyes, accompanied by bags underneath. She looked completely exhausted.

“Skulduggery. Valkyrie,” she greeted, flashing a warm smile. “Glad you could make it.”

“Skip the formalities China,” Skulduggery replied with a lazy flick of his hand. “Something’s up.”

China’s smile faltered, before fading entirely, and she took a seat on her sofa, massaging her temples.

“I received a message at dawn today. It was from an unknown source, but my administrator informed me whomever told her this confirmed there was proof to back their claim.”

“Confusing, okay.” Valkyrie frowned. “What claim?”

China looked to Skulduggery. “You know what I’m talking about, yes?” He nodded solemnly. “Excellent. I shall leave it to you to reiterate what I told you to Valkyrie in your own time, for privacy’s sake. For now though,” she breathed heavily, “the message I received was a location.”

Skulduggery seemed indulged at once. “For something yet to be determined?”

“I’d guess that to be their proof?” Valkyrie asked, confused.

“Indeed,” China answered, nodding slightly. “The location was given to me as co-ordinates, which lead to the middle of nowhere.” She stood, wavering slightly on her feet before moving to her desk, taking her phone and swiping the screen several times. The detectives waited quietly, until their phones buzzed. “You’ve received it?”

Valkyrie drew her own phone and read the message. She frowned.

“This leads to the middle of a forest-”

“The middle of nowhere, yes” China responded, sitting once again. “Inconspicuous to anyone who’s not a detective, or highly observant individual.”

“Lucky we’re highly observant detectives then,” Skulduggery quipped, putting his device away. “We’ll check it out later today.”

“Not on your own, you won’t.”

Skulduggery cocked his head an inch. “You’re coming with us?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“China,” Valkyrie butted in, taking a step towards her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

China smiled weakly. “Despite being ill lately, my dear, I feel plenty well enough to accompany you. It will be a difficult enough journey with the three of us as it is.”

“Difficult?”

“There’ll be guards, I take it?” Skulduggery intervened. China nodded once.

“Heaps of them.”

“We’ve dealt with guards before though.”

“Not like these.”

China held her phone out, an image of a large man, clad in steel armour, standing there. He barely fit on the screen, despite being twenty feet away from the photographer, and Valkyrie estimated him to be around ten feet tall.

“Jesus,” she breathed. “They’re all that large?”

She received a shrug in response. “Some are larger.”

Valkyrie sighed and nodded.

The gorgeous lady in front of her gave another smile. “I’ll be expecting you two in the parking lot at 3:30 then.”

“3:30 it is,” Skulduggery confirmed.

“Good day, Arbiter Pleasant. Arbiter Cain.”


	5. Oxymorons with a Voice

_A flash…_

_It had started with a flash, something streaking towards him before drilling into his shoulder. A large bullet no doubt, judging by the wound he was now re-wrapping bandages around._

_He squinted, searching his memories for those events. With his powers dampened to preservation level, he was helpless to recover more than fractured remnants to enable him to relive that day._

_It frustrated him to no end._

_He vaguely remembered being virtually paralysed from the shot, falling flat on his face while listening to that voice._

_That voice, raising him to his mirror. That voice, forcing him to watch himself die. That voice, heaving him from his household and ditching him in a dungeon. That voice…_

_It was a voice with no right to remain in existence._

_His bandaging complete, he stood. He’d been given a task upon arrival to this new cell: neutralise his prison mate._

_Aside from his pained noises, the room had been silent the entire time. Darting his eyes around the small, dim room for the hundredth time, he concluded again the area was clear. He’d been locked up alone for almost a month, in this exact cell for less than a week._

_He’d left himself seated by the door, next to the now bare first aid kit. His shoulder ached as he rolled it, testing the pain. He winced and shook his head. Without proper treatment, the residue from whatever had paralysed him would cause infection._

_Shaky on his legs, he walked to the centre of the room, to the trivial chair and table. Being paranoid left him with doubts to sit; but feeling entirely safe from his observations he stumbled forward. He deserved the small decency of comfort._

_He blinked as he neared, for no matter the number of steps he took, nor his speed, the table was distant. At a constant arm’s reach. Breathing deep, he marched forward, the room stretching to his stride, keeping his comfort at that tantalizing distance._

_He laughed. “So he still likes games,” he smirked. “Let’s play then.”_

_For hours he continued, eyes fixated on the table and feet carrying him afar. An occasional glance back disclosed him the room not only strained to accommodate but also shrunk. A nightmare for claustrophobics like him. He slowed as something dawned on him._

_Escape was…_

_Impossible. _

_Without going through that door he was frantic to get far from, he’d remain trapped. Locked away in a never-ending room that was at the same time too small to contain his fear of tight spaces. A familiar tightness invaded his lungs as he halted._

_His death here was going to be one hell of an oxymoron. Not even from infection, but from a panic attack induced by a tiny, yet undeniably huge room. It would take a while, but a few weeks here would tip him over the edge – insane, if not dead._

_His breathing quickened, and he continued, faster and more desperate now. Stomach lurching, he relished in the idea space for the room to grow would run out._

_In a world of magical misfits, such optimism was dangerous._

_Another hour of fast mobility had his legs give out. He clenched his teeth and drew in his knees, breathing hard as he struggled against the bone-crushing grip destroying his lungs. There had to be a way._

_He let despair claim him for his panic attack as he sobbed in pain and fear. He soon brushed away the tears, and gave himself some time to recover, before trooping onwards._

_It felt like years to him, the way time passed excruciatingly slow, but soon enough footsteps could be heard, not far in front him. He drew his allocated weapon from his belt, keeping it at waist-height. Killing one person to save himself was selfish, but easy to hide from authorities. Gun pointed to his approaching target, he slowed, squinting to see through the darkness._

_“Who’s there?” came the rough, yet confident query. _

_“Show yourself, and I may give you the honour of knowing my name.”_

_A pause. “I do not wish to alarm you, but my task is to kill you.”_

_He smiled sadly. “As is mine, you.”_

_“We could work together instead, if you’d prefer. There must be a way out of here that doesn’t involve violence- “_

_“As much as I appreciate taking the peaceful approach to most situations, I must decline, for I cannot see either of us emerging alive should we cooperate.”_

_“Pity.”_

_“Indeed.”_

_His attacker stepped forward slightly, his eyes meeting the light. He frowned. Those eyes were a glimmering blue-grey, sparkling at him even as a weapon was risen in front of them. Blonde hair dripped sweat onto his forehead, matching his blonde beard._

_It couldn’t be._

_“Wait,” he barked out, lowering his own gun. He allowed light to reach his own features, showing off his chocolate eyes and deep brown hair. Light illuminated the rest of his foe’s face, and he smiled as that shocked mouth opened to say his name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know what someone who suffers from claustrophobia is called, please let me know, cause I hardly think you'd call someone a claustrophobic.


	6. Hard-Headed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna get violent ;)

“It makes me feel more human.”

Valkyrie dropped her arm from under her chin, breaking her thoughts of the new information Skulduggery had given her, and turned from the window.

“What?”

Skulduggery watched her curiously for a minute, before returning his attention to the road. “You asked me earlier why I’m wearing a façade. It makes me feel more human.”

“Like you belong?” she pressed, shifting to face him.

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

She looked behind her where China was seated in the back. Her gaze was boring a hole through the window, uninterrupted by the conversation.

“Almost there?” Valkyrie asked, turning back.

“Almost,” Skulduggery echoed, his pinky flicking the indicator. The turn was sharp, and Valkyrie grasped her seatbelt tight as she lurched in her seat.

“A little warning next time,” China pouted from behind her. A glance in her direction saw China paler than before, seemingly fatigued.

“My apologies, China,” Skulduggery said smoothly. “Ah, here we are.”

They pulled up to the worn wooden gate, parking outside before climbing over and stalking in. The van of Cleavers soon joined them, and they all crouched in the murky garden. The grass was sloshy and unmown under Valkyrie’s feet, a sign the place was never cared for. They slunk in behind a few trees, before retrieving their personal cloaking spheres.

“Remember,” China said hoarsely, pointing towards the mini-manor’s front door, guarded by two ginormous men with scythes strapped to their backs. “There are symbols on every doorway that will make your spheres retract. Take the guards out, slink in, take cover somewhere discreet. I’ve got this door, Valkyrie the side door, Skulduggery the back.” They nodded, and she turned to the Cleavers.

“You are to wait here until you see me make a move against the guards. Then, you are to assist me. Understood?”

They didn’t move.

“Excellent,” China murmured. “Ready?”

“Why aren’t your plans that concise, easy and simple Skulduggery?” Valkyrie smirked, readying her sphere in her hands. Skulduggery grimaced at her before receding his façade, and with a twist of his hands he disappeared. Valkyrie twisted both sides of her sphere, and China soon followed suit.

She trudged through the slush around some badly trimmed hedges, eyes peeled for the boarded side-door. The place had such excellent security, even the closed-off entrance was guarded. At least they weren’t the towering giants left for China and the Cleavers out front. She approached the left-most guard as she drew one of her shock sticks.

Valkyrie gasped as she was suddenly pulled inwards by the guard, the sphere dropping from her pocket and rolling away from her. She swung her stick, right into his waiting hand. He tore it from her, and she smacked him with the heel of her palm. The second guard caught her with an elbow to the jaw, sending her sprawling. White lightning danced in her hands, but they were batted away as a knee came up into her chest that would have winded her were it not for her protective outfit.

They gave her no chance to recover. A fist came for her face, and she caught it, redirecting it to land in the wall behind her. Another knee came for her, but she ducked and twisted, moving herself away from the wall as she drew her second shock stick. One guard came straight for her, and she swung low, hitting him in the crotch. He went down with a wail, as Valkyrie pounced back up, just in time to whack the other guard right in his eye. His grab was clumsy and easily countered as she twisted his arm around, feeling it pop as she sent another hit straight into his chest. She watched the stick’s power crackle through him for a second, before letting him drop motionless to the ground.

She turned, receiving a punch to the nose that left her eyes watering. Dazed, she fell backwards, feeling something hard under her back. Rolling, she grabbed her other shock stick, avoiding the boot aimed at her chest. She locked her staff into place and lengthened it, in time to whack the guard in the legs, sending him down once again. He rebounded with a headbutt, leaving her reeling. She lashed wildly as blood pumped from her now crooked nose and heard a grunt as she managed to hit his face.

Starting her pattern low, she struck once, twice, thrice around his midsection, and soon he collapsed.

Valkyrie started towards the door again, only for another guard to pounce on her, wrenching the staff from her grip. She punched, landing it uselessly on the side of his head. He responded by throwing her into the far wall. Coughing, she regained her composure, facing him from a distance.

While these guards weren’t the huge ones she’d seen in the photos or out front, they clearly still had thick skulls.

Lightning sprung from her left palm, striking him easily in the chest, directly over his heart. It coursed through him for a moment, before he fell. He didn’t stir.

Clearly, their hearts weren’t nearly as strong.

Valkyrie wiped some of the blood from her face before retrieving her staff. She clutched it tight, looking around herself. She was in some poorly designed side-hallway, leading to something resembling a kitchen. For all the mini-mansion’s supposed glory, it was quite hideous. The torn wallpaper hung off the walls, getting more scratched, tattered, and in some sections bloody, the further she walked. A rickety staircase spiralled above her as she approached the front door. There was no sign of China.

Glancing around quickly, Valkyrie unlocked the door, yelping and dodging the oncoming bullet. She glowered at Skulduggery as he stepped over the unmoving guards and some presumably dead Cleavers.

“The heck was that?”

He tilted his head curiously. “The heck was what?”

“Shooting at me!”

He didn’t answer. “I see you took care of the guard I locked in here, so thank you.”

Valkyrie scowled. “You’re welcome. Where are the rest of the Cleavers? And China, too?”

“China’s injured. The Cleavers are with her.”

“Where is she?”

“Back in the Bentley. I told her to wait for us and honk the horn should anything incredibly distressing occur.”

She raised her eyebrows as she followed him upstairs. “You used those exact words?”

“Of course,” he answered, like it was obvious. “My car does not need to be abused for trivial reasons.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “The guards saw through the cloaking spheres.”

“Ah, yes. Always something we fail to plan ahead for.”

“How did they see us?”

“They didn’t,” he answered nonchalantly. “They sensed the spheres’ power.”

“Cheats,” Valkyrie muttered. Looking around, she frowned. “How is it so huge up here? Down there was tiny compared to this.”

“Valkyrie Cain, you live in a world of magic, monsters and mayhem, and you ask me how an upstairs is bigger than the downstairs?” He looked at her disapprovingly. “I thought you’d know the answer by now.”

“Let me guess. Magic?”

“The answer is don’t ask me, Valkyrie. I haven’t a clue.”

She sighed. All around were corridors, twisting and bending into impossible places, seeming conjoined. “A bloody maze. How are we supposed to find _anyone _here, let alone someone hidden from society for a good decade and a half? This is ridiculous.”

“Indeed, it is.” He paused, taking in his surroundings. “We should split up.”

“And should there be more guards?”

Skulduggery walked away from her, towards the nearest corridor.

“Take them out.”


	7. From Depths of the Weak

_“So, under, and-“_

_“Under, angled outwards.”_

_He swiped blonde hair from his brows as he concentrated, his gun aimed sightlessly under the loose screw. He angled it outwards as his friend had told him and fired. A gentle _clink_ sounded as the screw dropped._

_“Excellent,” his friend praised, clapping his uninjured shoulder. “Now the last few.”_

_The two of them positioned themselves accordingly, guns resting outside. Few shots fired failed to eliminate their targets, and screw after screw fell, until the barred door slammed into the cold cement in front of them. Protecting his injured shoulder with a grimace, he led the way out, into the creamy expanse of a single corridor. Their cell was the dead end, and it stretched to stairs heading down. _

_“Sorry again about not leaving any bandages for you,” his friend said quietly as they walked onwards. He shrugged._

_“Not like you knew I was there.”_

_“Still. It could get infected.”_

_“I’ll survive for now.”_

_Downstairs led to countless corridors, and he breathed deeply at the implications._

_“A fucking maze. ‘Course.” His friend turned to him, stopping abruptly. “We’ll never get out of here.”_

_“Lighten up,” he tried. “At least we’re not trapped anymore.” He received a glare for the comment. “Oh, c’mon, as if you didn’t-“_

_“Don’t even _mention_ that.”_

_He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright.”_

_He chose a random direction and started walking. His friend caught up in seconds._

_“Hold on, you haven’t a clue where you’re going.”_

_“And _you _do?” Another angry stare. He sighed. “Look, I want to get out of here as much as anyone would, so standing around is not an option for me. Unless you’d like him to find us and lock us up there again?”_

_Silence. Then, “fine.”_

_An estimated hour of walking led them down through a twisting nether of hallways, each ending with another empty, barred cell. They eventually retreated to the stairs and took another path._

_They’d stupidly hoped for different results. Frustration grew in his chest, and he stuck an arm out to hold his friend at bay at the final dead end he ever wanted to see._

_“Look, this clearly isn’t working,” he started._

_His friend huffed. “Yeah, and guess whose idea it was?”_

_“Enough snarky comments,” he snapped. “We need a plan.”_

_“Not sure about you, but _my_ plan is to follow each and every corridor until we find a way out of here.”_

_“Seriously?”_

_“I mean, yeah,” was the laughed response. “One of them leads out of here. And, unlike _you_, I have the patience to find the exit, even if I die trying.”_

_“What if you get caught again, huh?” He grimaced, almost teasingly. “You wouldn’t survive another week in that cell knowing how it works.”_

_“You know what?” his friend said angrily, poking at his chest in fury; “fuck you. I don’t need your help. You’ve failed to help me before – not sure what I expected this time. I’m going to find the way out of here, with you or without. That’s that.”_

_Another painful beat and a half stuttered between them before his friend took leave. He breathed heavily as he watched him stumble back the way they’d come, and gave in._

_“Alright!” he yelled out. “I’m coming.”_

_He caught up, muttering curses under his breath, eyes darting around helplessly as they continued through more looping hallways. With a harsh squint into the darkness of one of the passing corridors, he noticed something different._

_“Hold up.” He ignored his friend’s sigh and started towards the bent bars. He crouched and examined them._

_“Brute-forced open. He _does_ have other captives.” He gave his friend a hopeful look; a half smile. “We’re not alone.”_

_“Doesn’t mean they’re friendly.”_

_“But if we find them, we could convince them. We have the same goal, after all.”_

_“The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend.”_

_His smile strengthened. “You remembered.”_

_“Of course.” It was an obvious response. “How would we find them anyway?”_

_Biting his lip, he considered this for a moment. His eyes searched the walls for any evidence of company. Nothing. The ground was just as entertaining, except for-_

_“Look, over there,” he said suddenly, standing._

_His friend blinked at him, looking down too. “What- oh.”_

_They both knelt next to it; a small drop of crimson, bright against the dull cement tiles. Some straining of his eyes found another couple of drops, a little further up. He pointed._

_“It’s still fresh. C’mon, this way.”_

_The trail was very inconsistent, but it wasn’t a minute later that they came to a stop at a juncture. He opened his mouth to ask which direction, but his friend held up a hand, and he listened before he heard it: mutters from their right. Guns in hand, they followed the voices to a right turn, to what they guessed led to another cell. They stopped dead, just halfway up the hallway before the turn._

_He winced when he heard a loud shriek and decided whomever there was unfriendly._

_Looking to his friend, who was splayed on the wall opposite, he held up a hand, and received a nod in return as he counted down on his fingers._

_Three…_

_Two…_

_One._

_They both sprinted in, not stopping to look at their opponents before colliding with elbows and fists. He grunted as hands found his hip, and gasped as he was flipped to the ground. He clambered up, swinging a wild arm that caught his opponent in the jaw, and launched a kick into his gut, sending him down._

_Caught off guard as he tried to assist his friend, the guy grasped his ankle and tugged him down with him, and they rolled, grunting and groaning as they fought for dominance. His friend collapsed next to them, and his opponent came down on top, hard and fast. Wrestling hard, he reached a desperate hand behind the guy’s head, clumsily batting the gun just out of reach._

_Feet found their way to his stomach, and weakly lifted him up. He let the force launch him forward, and his hand closed around the gun, pressing it to his opponent’s head; he felt him freeze beneath him._

_He saw his friend trapped under his own opponent, a gun to his head as well._

_“A standstill, huh?” he snarled to the victorious foe, frustrated and out of breath. “Guess it’s a matter of who shoots first.”_

_“In all your weakness, you still managed to kick my ass.”_

_He looked to his friend again at the comment and frowned when he saw the gaping expression. The gun at his head had dropped, and he was sitting up. The guy over him was bald and scarred, his body shrunken from obvious malnutrition and loss of magic flow. He turned to him, and it all clicked._

_Looking beneath him, he saw the back of another familiar man, this one also weakened with the place’s decay, and sporting a bullet in his shoulder. They all stood; identities revealed to each other. Gaping, he looked around, heart pounding._

_It was like Christmas had come early - just with extra confusion._

_“Okay,” he exclaimed, “what the _actual fuck_ is going on?”_

_There was no time for an explanation, as the cell bars behind him rattled upon a contact from inside, followed by a gunshot and fearful sobbing and begging._

_His scarred friend shrugged, indicating to the cell. “Hopefully, we’ll get some answers.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read the series, I'm sure you know who these guys are by their bickering alone ;) let's see who else we can find...


	8. Left, Right, Ahead…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter of my first upload here. I gave you 8 chapters to start with, and I'm hoping more will follow soon. :)

The guard dropped to the ground unconscious, and Valkyrie continued through the eternally looping hallways, her back to the wall and staff in a tight grasp. She’d heard barely a sound from Skulduggery since they’d split, and so assumed he was fine.

It was all a guessing game, and Valkyrie soon found herself making a pattern for which path to take: _left, right, ahead; left right, ahead_. Some corridors led her in circles, and a couple led straight back to where she began. It was maddening, to say the least.

Valkyrie took a left turn, breaking her pattern, and soon heard footsteps not far from her. She took another left and yelped when she collided with Skulduggery. She glared at him as he raised his hands in apology.

“Don’t do that!”

“Do what?” he asked, forever innocent. “The job I’m paid to do?”

“Crash into me!”

“To be fair, I’m not the one sprinting down hallways.”

“Whatever,” Valkyrie huffed. “Any luck?”

“Not particularly. I’ve fought three guards so far, two of which I’ve killed. You?”

“Only two so far. None dead.”

Skulduggery nodded, thoughtful. “Start marking the corridors you’ve been down. It’ll make this easier for us,” he said.

“Me and what marker?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Scorch the walls with lightning.”

Valkyrie nodded, and walked over to a corridor she hadn’t been yet. “Alright.”

“Give me a yell if you need anything.”

She started down the hallway, when;

“Oh, and Valkyrie?”

She turned back.

“Yes?”

“Already checked that one.”

Cursing, she went to the corridor next-door.

Valkyrie kept herself in the shadows as she wandered onwards. It wasn’t long before she found a dead end, and turned back, taking a different turn. She did this a few times, uninterrupted, until the final possible turn on that path, where another standard-sized guard stood. Keeping low, Valkyrie slunk through the darkness, waiting for him to pass. She smacked her staff against his forehead at the first opportunity and dodged a clumsy fist that came for her. He doubled over when she elbowed his ribs and tripped up with a simple flick of her staff at his ankles. She hit him a few times, until he was out.

Along ahead was a fork in the corridor, and she chose to continue straight ahead, taking a right turn after.

She twisted the next corner to the left, darting back and covering her gasp at the sight of the massive guard. His head was bent to his knees to avoid hitting the ceiling, and his scythe was in hand, taking up most of the hallway. Valkyrie waited for him to turn away, before crouching low and creeping in from behind, staff twirling carefully in her hands as she constructed a plan.

Her staff crackled as she swung it at his feet, but he did nothing more than stumble. He turned with a fist that she ducked under easily, but his scythe came for her ankles, and knocked her clean off her feet. She rebounded with a headbutt, which landed uselessly on his shoulder, and he planted a foot in her stomach that knocked the air out of her.

Valkyrie rolled from beneath him, and cracked her staff against his knee, his ankle, his shin. He was undisturbed by the hits, and easily lifted her by the shirt with one hand. She lashed out a kick to his face, and grabbed his scythe from him as she fell, staff hand swinging wildly. The first swipe landed next to his nose, but the second and third were blocked by his arm, and she took a fourth swing, only to be disarmed.

He made a grab for her, which she ducked under, her elbow slamming into his nose, followed by a quick succession of fists and more elbows, which sent him temporarily reeling. Valkyrie darted under his arm to her staff, and it crackled against his back; uselessly. He spun with a kick that sent her to the wall, and her staff clattered from her grip as she focused on the spinning room. She barely registered him approaching as she attempted to stand and could do nothing when he grabbed her.

Her brain was yelling at her to move, while her muscles screamed in agony as she was repeatedly slammed against the wall. He did this a few times, before pressing a hand to her throat, cutting off her air supply.

Valkyrie’s mind had finally come around, only to be fogged again by a lack of oxygen as she struggled weakly against his tight hold. Her lungs begged for air, and she kicked helplessly at his arm, which only resulted in him tightening his chokehold. Tears formed in her eyes as her hands grabbed at his, pleading silently as she clawed at them.

She got the one on her throat off enough to gruffly yell:

“Help!”

It came back, hard and fast, and she coughed against the pain. Bile rose in her throat as her mind closed off. Her vison darkened, and her hearing faded. She felt numb, and-

-and hardly felt her power crackle from her fingers before he dropped her.

Electricity ran the length of her body, and the guard backed off, clearly wounded by her power. She threw it at him, but he twisted, and it landed pathetically against his back. Her mind still offline, Valkyrie didn’t register the boot that came flying for her, until she was slumped against the opposite wall. Her power slowly faded, and she cursed. She was too exhausted for it to flow into her hands, and her attempts at throwing it faded into the darkness.

Her original plan was her last chance.

“Skulduggery! _Help!_”

Her voice was hoarse, and he more than likely didn’t hear her. The guard, whom was taking his sweet time, had retrieved his scythe, and was approaching her. She struggled to stand, disorientated as she was, and started to run. He was soon hot on her heels – humongous but fast.

She turned this corner and that, not caring where they took her. Tears were flowing now, her lungs burning as she sprinted. Valkyrie collided with a wall in a dead end, and doubled back, narrowly avoiding that scythe as she chose a different route. _Left, right, left, ahead, left._

Another dead end greeted her. She spun and bobbed under the blade as it came for her once more. Valkyrie stumbled on her way under his arm, and that was all it took for him to hit her back with his scythe, her protective clothing saving her even as the impact knocked her off her feet.

Rolling, Valkyrie avoided his oncoming boot, and scrambled to her feet, elbowing him in the jaw on the way past, satisfied when he went staggering.

Anything to buy her time.

She sprinted down the hallway, taking more tight turns in an attempt to lose him.

_Right, left, right, ahead, left, ahead, right._

Valkyrie gasped when she found herself back at the staircase, and yelped Skulduggery’s name again, loud enough to echo everywhere.

She turned, to take a gash across her eyebrow from the scythe.

Blood now obscuring her vision, she covered up, her protective sleeve shielding her neck from the blade as it came for her. It slightly grazed her fingers.

She uncovered, and dodged the swipe, ducking under the next. Valkyrie whizzed underneath him, a fist hitting his nose, but he swung his scythe and caught her dead in her right eye.

Valkyrie backed away, hollering in pain as she covered her newest injury. Her back hit the wall, and she whimpered as he approached. Her free arm came over her face as he raised his weapon.

“Valkyrie!”

She was suddenly yanked into the corridor next to her and looked to see Skulduggery firing at the guard. Six shots rang out, and Skulduggery dodged a kick aimed his way, revolver dropping to the floor as flames sparked to life in his hands.

Valkyrie watched as they danced across the floor in fight, Skulduggery singeing the guard’s face with fire, and the guard whacking his scythe against Skulduggery’s protected torso.

Skulduggery stepped inwards, a false-kick maneuver that resulted in a headbutt to the guard’s already busted nose, dazing him enough to drop the scythe, which the detective kicked across the ground. A gloved fist then went straight to the guard’s eye, hitting three times before the wrist was grabbed, and Skulduggery screamed as his arm clattered to the ground.

Feeling pathetic, Valkyrie stood, a plan formulating in her mind as she sprinted forward. She scooped up the disarmed scythe on her way in, and the guard turned to her as she swung.

Blood sprayed, and Valkyrie dropped the weapon as the guard’s head knocked against her feet. She stepped aside as his body fell, and walked to Skulduggery, out of breath and wincing in pain.

Skulduggery let his arm fall to the ground again when he took in the sight of her.

“Shit, Val- are you okay?”

She nodded, but her eyes failed her as they welled, and he took her face in hand.

“I- I can’t see,” she whispered, pointing to her injured eye. Skulduggery nodded, a finger gently brushing tears from her cheek.

“It’s alright,” he said soothingly. “Reverie will fix that for you, no problem.”

She nodded, cleared her throat, and recomposed herself. “This guy was defending something, I’m sure,” she said loudly, picking up Skulduggery’s fallen limb and clicking it back into place for him.

“We don’t have to go back right now if you don’t-“

“My staff’s there.”

Without another word, they walked side-by-side down the hallway she’d come, blood leading them to the initial scene of the fight. Being blind in one eye made her walk like a drunk, and several times Skulduggery placed a gentle hand on her back to stop her from stumbling.

After walking in silence for a while, they got there and Valkyrie swiped up her staff, holding it tight as she walked. They didn’t have to go far from there – just around the corner – to find a room. There was no door, just an empty, badly painted doorframe. Skulduggery held up a hand before they entered, pointing to sigils barely showing against the white. She nodded, and passed her staff over, which he stuck in first. The sigils burned a bright orange, and guards came rushing out towards them. Skulduggery roughly pushed her staff back, and she grabbed it, swinging it at any guard to come close to her. Being injured gave her angry energy that she used as violence against them.

One made a grab at her leg, and she swung at him, hitting him square on the jaw, electricity piercing him and a couple others that were touching. They all fell, and she spun, smacking another to the ground, kicking the one coming from behind, before turning and caving his skull in with her weapon. She looked over to Skulduggery, just as his final assaulter collapsed. They nodded to each other once before entering, Skulduggery leading the way.

Valkyrie thought her good eye was also failing her when she took in the sight, but blinking a few times determined that, no, what sat there was real.

Machines she’d never seen before were all connected to him, keeping him suspended in mid-air, and his chest heaved with heavy breaths as he eyed them with a silent caution.

Bliss’s body was shrunken; malnourished. His eyes were red, and his usually muscular form had weakened over time. Valkyrie’s breath hitched when he looked at her, his gaze cold and emotionless. Skulduggery had to catch him when all the machines were disconnected, but Bliss pushed his way out of his grasp.

“Thank you, detectives,” he said gruffly, taking a few steps to steady himself. “I assume you know the way out?”

“Follow the blood trail,” Valkyrie said half-heartedly. Skulduggery led the way, with Bliss in the middle, and Valkyrie taking up the rear. Her mind was still whirring in the idea that they had _actually_ found someone who had supposedly died over a decade ago.

They made their way back downstairs in silence, and Valkyrie sighed in relief when there were no guards. The remaining Cleavers, who’d been circled around the Bentley protectively, disbanded and returned to their van. Skulduggery gently moved the unconscious China from the driver’s seat and settled her in the back next to Bliss.

Buckling up, Valkyrie tried to formulate in her mind how the conversation between the two would pan out.

In any sense, it wasn’t going to end well.


	9. Another Page Turns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, been so long since I've updated! I've got a few chapters written (just editing and figuring out titles), so hopefully they'll be out too.
> 
> This chapter is a bombshell for you all.
> 
> Enjoy!

Flick.

_It was comforting, in a way. The gentle sound of a page turning coming from his left._

Flick.

_He closed his eyes and smiled as he felt that frail frame lean against him for warmth._

Flick.

_The page turn was accompanied by a soft giggle – the tenth that day._

_“Amusing book?” he asked gruffly._

_“Hilarious,” was the soft response. He blinked at his friend, and gently ruffled his messy brown locks. Bright blue eyes flickered to him, smiling gently._

_“Food should be here soon,” he murmured._

_“Good,” his friend replied, snapping the book shut and stretching. “I’m starving.”_

_He nodded, examining his friend’s body. He had always been a bit slimmer, but his ribcage was now protruding under his shirt, and his shoulder blades stuck out a mile. Moving his gaze to his friend’s face, he took in the dry, cracked lips and exhausted eyes._

_They’d been locked there together for about ten years, but he had to consider all those years they’d spent apart._

_He remembered that day as clearly: waltzing into the library-like cell they were now sitting in. He’d recognised him immediately, the brown hair and blue eyes; and that lonely feeling in his chest had diminished in an instant._

_It had been the best day of his life for the past - what, over fifty? - years._

Flick.

_He almost chuckled when he heard another page turn. Looking over, he watched his friend read his book. His friend was almost finished reading it, and he wasn’t surprised to see a stack of books next to him._

Flick.

Flick.

Flick flick flick.

_Drowsy, he rested his eyes, his head drooping against the back of the bookshelf they were resting against._

Flick.

_“How can you read?” he asked, out of the blue. The ongoing _flick_ stopped midway as his friend rubbed the page between his fingers. He met his gaze steadily and received a shrug for an answer._

Flick.

_“I can’t do nothing,” his friend mumbled. “Might as well make use of being stuck in a library all these years.”_

_“Haven’t you read everything yet?”_

_His friend glared playfully. “Cut me some slack, yeah? I had to reteach myself how to read first. Besides, he’s always dumping more in here.”_

_“Fair,” he responded. He ruffled that hair again, before standing._

_“Where’re you going?”_

_“For a walk. Stretch my legs.”_

_“Oh.”_

_He left the bookworm to his interests and clambered around the room. It was typically huge for a cell, as it held multiple bookshelves. It was basically what he’d read a library was._

_Minus the comfortable chairs and advanced technology. They apparently didn’t deserve such things._

_He rounded the only table in the room – a narrow, short and honestly useless-looking thing, before gliding further from the light, towards the far side of the room. The barred cell door was the same as always: barred, cold and tantalizing. Longing for escape had long since slipped his mind, however; and he left the doorway, turning around another set of shelves._

_He started reading the book spines, for something to do. Most of them were old textbooks, but the last shelf held his friend’s favourites. The complete _Harry Potter _series, accompanied by _The Hunger Games_, _Lord of the Rings_, and horror-story collections by _Gordon Edgley_, were the most treasured on that shelf._

Edgley_’s books honestly frightened him to some degree. Taking one off the shelf, he read the back. It was hauntingly accurate to their world of magic, considering it was written by a mortal._

_He read a few pages, and concluded that it was well-written and terrifying, before placing it back and returning to his friend’s side._

_The expected _flick_ greeted him upon his return, and he smirked at his friend reading a different book, titled _Twilight_. His friend was sporting an unimpressed frown._

_“This is much worse than those magazines made it out to be,” he grumbled, tossing it aside. He looked up, almost expectantly. “Food here yet?”_

_They frowned in unison. “No. The fucker’s late.”_

_That adorable pout followed his statement, and his heart fluttered unexpectedly._

_“Hmph.”_

_“Don’t be petty,” he said quietly. “He’ll be here- “_

_A familiar loud clanking noise came from the cell’s entrance._

_“Speaking of the devil,” his friend muttered, taking his outstretched hand and slowly lifting himself up. “Thanks.”_

_They wandered over slowly, and their frowns deepened when they realised their captor wasn’t holding food._

_“The hell?” he growled, confused._

_Golden eyes glowed at him, taking in his appearance. A leer infiltrated stone features, as his belt was revealed to them. His heart stopped when he spotted the revolver._

_“Good morning to you, too. I’ve got a preposition for you,” came that dreadful, silky voice. It took him a moment to register those gold eyes boring into his own._

_“A preposition - for us?”_

_“No. Well, yes. But for you, specifically.”_

_His friend looked at him in confusion._

_He looked between his captor, and his friend. “Go on,” he responded slowly._

_“See this?” The revolver was now in hand, being turned over for him to examine. “I’m going to give this to you, and the both of you will have some fun.”_

_“F-fun?” his friend whimpered. “What do you mean, _fun_?”_

_That smirk grew. He didn’t like where this was going._

_“You’ll fight, of course.”_

_Their breaths hitched at the exact same time, and he locked eyes with those blue diamonds he adored._

_“Fight?” he confirmed softly. A nod._

_“To the _death._”_

_“No!” he yelled, backing away. “I refuse!”_

_A hand raised to halt him. “I haven’t even stated the reward yet.” He walked forward, out of the cell doorway, and the door mechanically slammed shut behind him. It was a strange door – automatic with all the bars conjoined somewhere at the top. _

_“Whomever survives, will see the light of day.”_

_He paused. “You – you’ll let us go?”_

_Their captor hummed in approval. “The survivor will return to the outside world.” The gun handle was passed to him, and he took it in hand, turning it over in thought._

_“W-wait,” his friend whispered, eyes darting between the gun and captor. “What about me?”_

_A laugh echoed around the room, and they both flinched._

_“Oh, even if you weren’t as damaged as you are,” Ravel cooed tauntingly, “Hopeless would kick your ass any day of the week.”_

_He stared at the revolver as the cell door slammed again, leaving them alone together once more. He looked up into terrified blue._

_“Well, isn’t this ridiculous,” his friend laughed nervously. “He’s mental thinking you’d actually- “_

_Hopeless flicked off the safety and swallowed as his friend shut up for a moment._

_“You – you’re actually considering this?” _

_“I…” He wracked his brain for an excuse, for an anchor to cling to, a reason that it _must be this way_. But there wasn’t one. There was only the simple truth: he was selfish enough to kill his best friend._

_His stomach lurched as he realised how awful this was._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispered._

_Larrikin’s eyes widened as tears invaded, and he turned on his heel, and _ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLEY SHIT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, INTRODUCING HOPELESS AND LARRIKIN!
> 
> Oh, and Erskine Ravel. How could I forget.
> 
> If you don't know who Hopeless and Larrikin are, one; screw you for being a fake/bad fan (not really tho love you). Two: they are the two members of the Dead Men we never meet, cuz they're already dead in the series. But, lo and behold, in case you haven't guessed... the Dead Men... are BACK! Magic, I know.
> 
> And Ravel's behind everything. So that's. Terrible. Oof.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!~


	10. Hurtling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp Chapter 10 is ready today too apparently. In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to make my chapters a bit longer, so get ready for longer chapters here on out! (Not this one. This one is pathetic hehe...)

Bliss dodged another book sent his way and ducked under a mug that smashed against the wall behind him.

“Ten years, Bliss! _Ten years_ I thought you were dead!” China hollered, throwing another book in his direction.

“If you quit throwing things, I’ll explain.” He dodged a pen jar.

“You better fucking explain!”

He sighed, straightening himself. “After ‘pulling off my disappearing act’, as you say, I couldn’t just return to the Sanctuary.”

China’s nostrils flared, waiting for him to continue. He examined her pale, exhausted and pained face, before doing so.

“I hid away, training myself. No one- “

“Training for what?”

He blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

China rolled her eyes and huffed. “You said you were training. Why?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why not?”

Shaking his head, he righted the chair thrown at him earlier and sat. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t let anyone interfere.”

She sneered angrily. “So, tell me how you were strung up with your _magic_ being _siphoned_ from you.”

“That,” he paused. “That was a mistake on my part.” He noticed the way China swayed, and pursed his lips, not daring to say anything. “I was careless when practicing. I was, for want of a better word, _kidnapped_ by a cloaked figure.”

“A single person kidnapped you? Not buying it.” China stumbled against the wall, steadily growing paler. She held a hand to her stomach, as if sick. Slightly disturbed, Bliss tried to ignore the bandages on her arms and upper chest area as well as her obvious discomfort.

“If it helps you believe, it was a Necromancer, and even though I couldn’t see anyone else, I swear there were more.” He frowned. “Are you okay?”

China’s breathing was laboured now, and he stood, starting to approach her. She threw a book at him, which rebounded off his chest.

“I- I’m fine.”

She turned away from him, doubled over from obvious pain, and he moved behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She was searing hot, a fever burning through her entire body.

“You’re sick. Go home. Rest.”

“Like you have any right to- “ her snarl was cut off by retching. Bliss rubbed her neck soothingly as she started trembling. He hushed her gently, but more foul-smelling vomit piled on the floor. A more thorough examination made Bliss’s heart skip a beat.

“Cleavers,” he yelled. The door opened in seconds. “Take Supreme Mage Sorrows to the Infirmary.”

“Overruled,” was the choked response. The Cleavers had none of it though and took her under the arms. China’s legs gave out, and one of them carried her, running out the door.

Bliss knelt, cleaning supplies in hand as he gently mopped up the brown and crimson. He soon set about cleaning the room, placing everything back, and sweeping the broken mug.

A knock sounded at the door a while later.

He answered it to Pleasant and Cain. The young lady had a patch over her right eye, and bandages in numerous places. He raised a concerned eyebrow but remained silent.

“Bliss,” Pleasant greeted. “Is China in?”

He shook his head. “I had some Cleavers accompany her to the Infirmary a couple hours ago.”

Cain frowned. “Is she alright?”

“Unwell, but I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be treated.” He smiled politely. “Do you need anything?”

“We’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s alright with you,” Pleasant responded. Bliss could detect his curiosity from a mile away and contemplated sending them away.

His mouth betrayed him.

“Of course. Come in.”

Once they were seated comfortably, the detectives – no, Arbiters, he’d been told – wasted no time in attempting to pry into his last ten years. He told them what he’d told China, and almost expected Pleasant to throw a chair at him in frustration.

“How _did_ you pull off that disappearing act?” Cain asked softly, absentmindedly thumbing the eyepatch.

Bliss faltered. “I… I’m not sure it would be wise if I told you.”

“Bliss,” Pleasant intervened. “Let me remind you that your reappearance is linked to multiple murders.”

“I’m aware,” he responded, almost bored.

“The more information you hold from us, the worse it looks for you.”

He grimaced. “I’m a suspect, then.”

“On the top of our list,” Pleasant added helpfully. He sighed.

“You’re aware of the magic Splashes yes? Well, they were around back then, but only in early development.”

“Are you able to date when they were created?” Cain asked.

“The first I saw of them was the day you killed Serpine. Found some in one of his draws. Poorly designed, though.” His gaze flickered up to Pleasant, whose fists were clenched angrily.

“Don’t tell me- “

“He’s long dead,” Bliss answered, watching him relax. “Anyways, this particular Splash alters reflections. It gives them the ability to wield magic, and properly take place of mages.”

Pleasant cocked his head but said nothing.

Cain seemed to catch on. “How do they gain this magic?”

“The Splash essentially gives them an artificial core.”

She frowned. “Core?”

“The core is the part of the soul that holds magic.” Pleasant explained.

“Do reflections even _have_ souls?” Cain asked.

“No,” Bliss answered. “They don’t need to in order to hold a core, though. It simply nests in their aura.”

“How can they have an aura without a soul?”

“Now that,” Bliss grimaced, sitting up straighter, “is not something within my levels of understanding.”

“So, the Splash gives them a core,” Pleasant recalled. “What actually gives them magic?”

“Typically, part of the person’s power is drained and passed over to the reflection’s core. From there, the core retains that power and generates more over time. Since they received part of a magic discipline, they have no choice but to follow it.”

“What happens to the person?”

“An insignificant amount of magic is used. Their power regenerates to full capacity within a day.”

“Do the reflections retain their magic when killed?” Cain asked.

“Of course. That was what the Splash was designed for – to fake deaths.” He frowned. “Am I missing something here?”

“Who designed it?”

The question came from the doorway, and Bliss turned to see China standing there. She was no longer pale or sickly.

He was though. The idea of telling them-

“Excellent question, China,” Pleasant perked, leaning in. “Who designed it, Bliss?”

“I… shouldn’t tell you, really.”

“Why not?”

“You just don’t want to know.”

“Trust me, Bliss. I really do.”

“My answer is no.”

“Albertus Gratian Bliss.”

He went numb at China using his full name.

“You tell us _right now_ who designed that Splash.”

He looked around at them all, blushing brightly as Pleasant and Cain held back laughter.

“Erskine Ravel.”

The mood in the room soured immediately. He locked eyes with Pleasant and licked his lips nervously.

“Erskine Ravel designed it.”

There was a moment of still silence where he fidgeted nervously. China, Pleasant and Cain were glancing around at each other, obviously expecting reactions.

Pleasant’s came first.

He stood and fled, ignoring China’s protests, and Cain ran after him. Bliss held his head in his hands.

_What a mess_, he thought to himself. _What a fucking mess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALBERTUS GRATIAN BLISS!
> 
> So, I decided to give Mr Bliss a first name. It has like old Greek/Roman/Latin roots or something of the sort. Means something along the lines of manly, I think. I dunno, I wrote that line ages ago, but DAMN is it funny! I would laugh at him 100%.
> 
> Also, shit, waddup Skulduggery. Ravel's behind it all? Guess what that means!


	11. Gunshots Galore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, your treat mah dudes, Chapter 11 is up and ready today as well! It's an early Christmas for you all apparently!

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Those words echoed in Larrikin’s mind as he fled, sprinting as fast as his malnourished body allowed. He twisted around bookcases, dipping under the single table in the middle of the place, and curling under the tablecloth. It was small, so he hoped Hopeless wouldn’t think to look there._

_“Stop running, Larrikin,” Hopeless’s voice called from the darkness behind him. “Please, just don’t make this any harder than it already is.”_

_His pleading tone sent chills up Larrikin’s spine. It was cowardly to have run, but he couldn’t stand the idea of dying like this, with his only friend of the past ten years bringing him to the close._

_It made him sick to the stomach to think Hopeless was willingly hunting him._

_He drew in his knees as footsteps approached from the left. His heart hammered as he held his breath, waiting until they had passed him before gently releasing it._

_Too loud._

_Those footsteps returned, faster this time._

_He had to move._

_He darted out the other side and slipped around the nearest bookcase, taking the next left._

_The bookcases were like a maze, sometimes forcing his direction, other times leaving him options. He chose the next left turn and-_

_-collided with a bookcase. A dead end._

_“Fuck!” he whimpered. He was already out of breath, what with being so out of shape, and started crying as he heard those footsteps approach. They were loud enough to echo, and he choked a soft sob as fear and pain seared in his chest. He leaned against the bookcase, waiting to see him turn the corner, but felt the bookcase shift behind him._

_Larrikin glanced at it, hope flickering over him as he slipped in, trying to help push the bookcase closed just as Hopeless rounded the corner towards him. The gun was raised, but didn’t fire, and soon Larrikin was closed in a pitch-black room._

_Pitch black._

_“Shit.”_

_Standing close enough to the bookcase, he could see the switch that would allow him to re-enter, and almost willed himself to flip it._

_Instead, he let his curiosity overpower, and heaved a deep breath before exploring._

_He followed the wall, palming it for comfort, and soon found a corner. Frowning, he followed it further._

_After barely walking metres, he felt another corner. A whine escaped his throat as he realised how small the room was._

_He returned to that switch and knelt beneath it. He had two options:_

_Live out his last days alone and terrified, or die a quick, relatively painless death at the hand of his oldest friend._

_Larrikin shook his head. Hopeless didn’t deserve that blood on his hands. He smoothed down his hair, just for something to do, and tried to ignore the heavy pounding of his heart. Pressure invaded his lungs as more tears filled his eyes._

_Pitch black._

_Tiny room._

_Pitch black tiny room._

_Pitch tiny black room-_

_He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He wasn’t thinking when he flipped the switch._

_Hopeless had been standing to the side and was caught off-guard. Larrikin internally thanked him for the chance to continue running and darted away. The gunshot that resounded around the room pulled a scream from his burning lungs as he picked up speed._

_“Larrikin!”_

_He continued straight, out of the bookcase maze, and skulked around the outside. Hopeless seemed to think he’d returned under the table and approached it._

_“Please, Larrikin, stop this.”_

_Hopeless flicked the edge of the tablecloth up and sagged when it revealed he wasn’t there. Larrikin darted behind the bookshelf again as he turned._

_“Where are you?”_

_He remained crouched there. The odds of Hopeless approaching were-_

_Hopeless was approaching._

_He walked slowly, keeping his breathing even as Hopeless neared. He rounded the corner slowly, and a glance behind him showed the barred door. It was all open space. He had nowhere to hide._

_Backing up slowly, he watched Hopeless appear around the corner._

_“Please,” he tried to plead, hands raised. That gun was raised too though, pointing straight at him._

_“I’m so sorry, Larrikin.”_

_He spun and started to run, straight at the door, and rebounded off, but the gunshot had him shrieking as it sent him to the ground, a bullet nestled painfully in his right leg. Larrikin dragged himself into the corner closest the cell door, chest heaving in agony and dread, with a string of pleads and sobs babbling from his mouth._

_Hopeless approached him, lowering the revolver as he crouched. He examined the wound, before shaking his head. “You had to make this difficult, huh?”_

_“I’m- I’m sorry!” Larrikin sobbed, clutching his leg frantically. “I’m such a coward, I just- I just couldn’t- “_

_“Hey, it’s okay,” Hopeless soothed, cupping Larrikin’s face with one hand. “I just…” He sighed. It was ragged, unusual given Hopeless’s preservation. Sure, he was no longer hard-abed, but his body wasn’t quite dangerously underweight. He was of average weight, Larrikin had to guess. Not that Hopeless’s bodyweight mattered to him in that moment. It was, after all, his own life on the line._

_“This isn’t fair.”_

_They locked eyes, and Hopeless’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I know.” His eyes darted around the room. “I don’t want to do this.”_

_“Then don’t,” Larrikin whispered._

_Brown locks swayed with a shake of Hopeless’s head. “That would defeat the purpose of this though, hm?”_

_“It shouldn’t be like this.”_

_“I know.” They both winced as gunshots sounded, so close to their cell door. Probably another escaped prisoner. The guards were usually outside the building at this time of day, but Larrikin’s suspicions were confirmed when bullet casings dropping accompanied the sounds._

_Larrikin met Hopeless’s eyes fearfully. They stared a moment, before he spoke again._

_“I really don’t want to do this,” Hopeless whispered. Larrikin swore he heard their hearts tear in unison, but decided Hopeless’s heart was scarred enough, and took a deep breath._

_“You don’t have to.”_

_“I do, though. I’m selfish like that. You know I am.”_

_“Yeah, well I mean – I’ll do it.”_

_Hazel eyes widened. “No. Absolutely not.”_

_Larrikin heard a louder scuffle from outside but ignored it._

_“Hopeless- “_

_“If I’m gonna be selfish and kill you to survive, I deserve to live with that horror against my name.”_

_He nibbled his lip. A choked sob escaped him as Hopeless brushed away a tear._

_“I’m scared,” he wailed. It was pathetic, he knew. It was cowardly. It was the manifestation of his being._

_“Anyone would be,” Hopeless murmured. It was meant to be soothing – meant to desperately sew their hearts together as if denying the monstrosity about to occur. If anything, it tore Larrikin further._

_Larrikin sniffled. “Let’s get it over with,” Hopeless added quietly._

_He seemed frozen, the hand with the revolver refusing to move for a moment._

_Until it did, and another wave of anxiety brought Larrikin another lot of tears._

_Larrikin watched with fearful eyes as Hopeless stood. He got distance, before raising the revolver. He paused however, tilting his head towards the cell door behind him. The ruckus now consisted of loud clanking and grunting, and a huge slam followed._

_Someone was trying to get in._

_And it wasn’t Ravel._

_Not that they’d succeed, of course. Both him and Hopeless had attacked the door over the years, to no prevail._

_From where they were, they couldn’t see who was there, and the distraction didn’t calm Larrikin’s pounding heart or overworked lungs. “Hopeless, please!” Hopeless’s eyes snapped back, but he froze as a gun’s safety clicked off._

_“Shoot and I shoot too,” came the confident but gruff voice. Larrikin’s eyes widened in shock as that deep gut feeling of dread washed over him._

_“No, don’t!” he yelped. The guy was masked by the shadows; darkened and unidentifiable._

_But he sounded so _familiar_._

_“L-Larrikin?”_

_Another guy approached, and he squinted to see blonde hair, accompanied by a blonde beard and blue-grey eyes._

_“N-no, it c-c-can’t be,” he whispered. “D-Dexter?”_

_Hopeless’s eyes blew huge, and he spun, gaping at the blonde as the revolver clattered to the ground._

_Dexter Vex gaped back. “Hopeless,” he whispered._

_Larrikin watched as two more figures stepped through the doorway. Black-haired and stubbled, broad but malnourished and with an obvious shoulder injury, came Anton Shudder, eyes wary, but soft and caring when he sighted Larrikin’s leg._

_Brown hair and brown eyes. Gentle gaze. Saracen Rue stood in front of him, sporting a bandaged shoulder and emotional expression._

_The man in the shadows came forward, all bald and scarred. Ghastly Bespoke, broad-shouldered but whittled to a husk of the muscle he once was. Larrikin could do nothing but stare at them all, teary-eyed and afraid._

_Dexter leapt forward, eager to hug Hopeless, but was held at bay._

_“What the _fuck_!” Hopeless yelled._

_“What?” Anton asked, cocking a brow as he and Saracen knelt next to Larrikin, troubling him with their examinations of his leg. He hissed in pain, to which he was shushed. Saracen leaned forward for a not-so-subtle hug, and he felt a warm feeling wash over him._

_“Fifty years!” Hopeless bellowed. “Fifty fucking years, we’ve been locked in this God-forsaken place, and you only _now_ came looking for us?”_

_“Closer to a hundred, actually,” Saracen murmured, making Hopeless’s eyes bug._

_“What!” It certainly hadn’t felt like a hundred years to Larrikin, and he shared Hopeless’s shock._

_“You guys died,” Saracen said bluntly. Larrikin blinked at him blankly. “Besides, we got locked here too. That’s why we’re here.”_

_“We were trying to escape, when we found you,” Anton added helpfully._

_“Died?” Larrikin queried, confused. He yelped in pain as Anton started tearing his old pants from his injured leg, Saracen gently holding him in place as a tourniquet was tied._

_“Wait,” Ghastly intervened, raising a hand against Hopeless’s oncoming protest. “Did you get taken to a mirror at all?”_

_“Serpine took my reflection, years ago,” Hopeless responded angrily. “What’s this got to do with anything?”_

_“He killed our reflections,” Larrikin mumbled. “Well, mine anyways. I saw him.”_

_“He improved them and left them dead in your place,” Ghastly concluded, kneeling at Larrikin’s side also. “Ravel did the same with us.”_

_“Why is Ravel finishing Serpine’s work though?” Dexter asked._

_“No idea.”_

_“He was a traitor from the start.”_

_Everyone froze and turned to Hopeless._

_“What?”_

_“He helped Serpine capture me.” He swallowed, joining everyone else on the ground, with Dexter standing behind him. “I wanted nothing more than to yell it to you all. But I couldn’t.” His head bowed. “I’m sorry you spent all that time in the dark.”_

_“Ravel played his cards. He’s made his stance. Time for us to get out of here and make ours.” Anton stood. Everyone else nodded and grunted in agreement. Hopeless scooped Larrikin in his arms, and he stifled yelps of pain as he was cradled. Hopeless was the only one who’s power had been able to properly preserve him, and Larrikin relaxed against his broad chest, jealous of the perks of being a druid._

_Dexter shared his thoughts as they walked. “Fucking druid-preserving powers,” he grumbled. Hopeless didn’t hear him though, Larrikin knew – he was too busy rambling apologies and regrets to him quietly._

_All around them were corridors, stretching and twisting impossibly. Larrikin’s chest clenched painfully, and he suppressed a whimper._

_“I really am sorry,” Hopeless whispered. “I’m such a prat.”_

_“I’m okay,” Larrikin croaked in response. “I’ll be fine. Pain’s fading already,” he added with a half-smile up at him._

_“This way,” Ghastly guided. “And stay quiet. Ravel’s been gone a while; he could return any minute.”_

_“He was here not long ago,” Hopeless muttered._

_“More of a reason to stay quiet, then.”_

_They walked for ages, reaching dead ends and retracing their steps. Each pathway brought more tightness in Larrikin’s chest, and each breath heaved more, shaking his leg and making him wince._

_Hopeless noticed this, and gently stroked his hair whilst muttering more quiet apologies. He leaned into the touch, watching as they passed corridor after corridor._

_“Keep your eyes peeled for an exit,” Anton said quietly._

_“We must be close,” Saracen murmured. “We haven’t hit a dead end in ages.”_

_They’d barely travelled another few metres, when Hopeless called for a halt. Larrikin looked up at him in confusion._

_“What’s wrong?” he asked softly._

_“Our powers haven’t returned,” Hopeless stated, matter-of-factly._

_“True,” Dexter responded. “Do you think the building’s dampening them, and not the cells?”_

_“That’s the most likely answer. More of a reason to get the hell outta here.” He paused. “But that means Ravel and whatever guards he may have can’t use magic in here either, right?”_

_“Correct,” Anton said. “Unless they’ve discovered some other sort of cheat, no. Their powers would be dampened too.”_

_“So how much trouble would we be in if we encountered anyone, least of all Ravel himself?” Larrikin asked softly._

_“Let’s hope we don’t find out.”_

_They took the next left turn, then another right and-_

_-dead end. _

_They retraced and took a double left, then a right. Straight ahead at the next intersection, and they halted outside a door. This door wasn’t barred – it was just a simple door, with normal hinges and a handle._

_Ghastly dominated his lead, gun raised as he tried the handle. Locked, as expected. Hopeless gently set Larrikin down and marched over. Three strong kicks from the druid had the door off, and Ghastly, Hopeless and Dexter scoped the place out whilst Larrikin listened in on Saracen and Anton’s conversation._

_“Destroyed, you say?” Anton muttered. He seemed upset in a way Larrikin had never seen before._

_“I’m sorry, Anton,” Saracen responded sincerely. “They did everything they could, but the guy had more than infiltrated the place. He’d infected it with his own power, and it wouldn’t’ve been the same if they’d saved it anyhow.”_

_Anton processed this, nodding slowly. “That’s alright. Place was getting old.”_

_“What place?” Larrikin interjected._

_Anton smiled, but it was twisted familiarly in regret. “My hotel.”_

_“Guys,” Dexter called out, “you’d better see this.”_

_Anton and Saracen deftly left._

_“Hey!” Larrikin yelled. “What about me?”_

_No reply. He sighed, before propping himself against the wall. He grunted in pain as he lifted himself and limped through the door, wincing with each step._

_It was… strange. Metal objects covered in lights, switches and buttons covered every surface. A strange screen sat on a far wall, completely black save for a small red light blinking on the bottom. A large panel – a control panel, he’d read – was under it, with various buttons with strange labels. The technology of the place made him gape in surprise – he hadn’t expected anything this extravagant._

_Turning the corner, using his left hand on the panel to stabilize himself, Larrikin continued onwards, following his friends’ voices. They were all standing around multiple screens, linked with wires and plugs and stuff he couldn’t identify. Each screen showed cells, and his heart sank when he recognised his own busted cell door on the screen to his right._

_“You can walk,” Dexter regarded him with a playful smirk. “Mustn’t be too painful then.”_

_His attempt at smirking back felt more like a grimace. “Hey, just ‘cus I’m forcing myself to man up, doesn’t mean I’m not hurting.”_

_He redirected his attention to the computers. “So, what is this stuff?”_

_“Security,” Dexter answered as Saracen fiddled around._

_“Yeah, and I thought this shit was only used in movies,” Saracen muttered. He started pressing buttons, and before Larrikin could examine all the screens, they flickered off, one by one._

_“How come we never saw any cameras?” Dexter asked, frowning._

_“Must be too well hidden,” Ghastly responded, though his attention was elsewhere. “Hopeless, are you alright?”_

_Hopeless nodded as he returned from around the corner, smiling slightly. “Better than alright. I can sense it.”_

_“Sense what?”_

_“My power. The exit must be this way.”_

_He led them on, and Larrikin limped after them, wincing with each step._

_“I feel it too now,” Ghastly said. “It’s getting stronger.”_

_The small office-like area led them to a staircase, leading straight up into a general homey-looking space straight out of the 1920’s. It was somewhat tasteful, and-_

_“Bright,” he said out loud. “There’s sunlight.”_

_Beams of it were streaming from a dusty windowsill opposite the door. He hobbled to it and sighed as it tingled on his skin. He heard a few chuckles from behind him as the door was kicked down._

_“What?” he chirped. “I’ve been in darkness for – a hundred years, was it? I’m allowed to enjoy the sun.”_

_“You are,” Hopeless confirmed. Larrikin watched him step out the doorway, and his friend immediately brightened. His posture changed, and he instantly looked much healthier. Ghastly soon joined him. His improvement was obvious too, but not as… fulfilling. He still seemed weakened, and even as his slimmed frame relaxed, hunger, thirst and muscle-loss left him teetering slightly. Anton was the same, except he instantly clutched his injured shoulder with a grimace as the pain intensified. Dexter and Saracen exited at the same time, grinning at each other brightly. Larrikin could see pain in their eyes too, but they hid it. Theirs would only be mild compared to everyone else’s, he knew._

_Larrikin took a deep breath, before limping through the doorway, and-_

_-he collapsed with a scream as pain rocketed through his leg, clawing at his shrivelled muscle as he rolled onto his back. His muscles ached, and his stomach churned unkindly with hunger and thirst, which gnawed at him insistently. His chest clenched in panic, and he barely registered Hopeless kneeling over him, hands gentle on his leg as they glowed._

_“-got you. I’ve got you.”_

_“Wh-why does this h-hurt so much?” he wailed. His cheeks burned in humiliation as everyone else came forward._

_“You were treated the worst out of all of us,” Anton comforted. “Your body is simply reacting to the poor treatment.”_

_“His core is too, actually,” Hopeless added gruffly. “The damn thing was always torturing him back then.”_

_“Might be able to get it regulated, given all the new technology around.”_

_“Perhaps. Have to navigate our way, first. We’ll see though, won’t we Larrikin?”_

_Larrikin nodded without understanding and gritted his teeth as Hopeless started rewrapping wrapping his leg._

_“Hopeless, he’s going into shock.”_

_“I know. It’s alright.”_

_“Is it really?”_

_Larrikin was too engulfed in dread to decipher their voices. He whined as the pain increased considerably._

_Within a minute, he began to feel quite dizzy. Everything became a blur, and he blinked lazily up at the sky. He turned to Hopeless, silently begging for relief, but all he heard before darkness came in was;_

_“Rest, Larrikin. I’ve got you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYYYYE THE DEAD MEN ALL TOGETHER!!!!
> 
> Welp, except Ravel, but fuck him. No one likes him.
> 
> And Skulduggery, but not much we can do 'bout that right now.
> 
> Oops, should not have said that-


	12. Whodunnit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Chapter 12 is the last on today's lineup. I am currently still writing Chapter 13, and boyyy is it a doozy. Anyways, enjoy this detectiving from our favourite Arbiter duo.

Chapter 12: Whodunnit

He was always a chatterbox, so Valkyrie figured silence coming from Skulduggery signified the need to dodge knives. His quiet was dark and dangerous.

“Skulduggery?”

He didn’t look up from his notes, just raised a hand to silence her. She swallowed nervously, and his hand slowly lowered as he scribbled frantically. He didn’t turn to her for another few minutes.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“No.” It was cold and lacking explanation. “I’m not okay.”

“Care to elaborate?”

He looked up at her sternly. “Bliss is alive.”

She sighed. “Thanks for the debrief, captain obvious.”

“You’re not seeing it. Bliss is _alive_. Who else could be wandering around that supposedly died?”

Skulduggery passed over some notes, and Valkyrie raised a curious eyebrow as she read.

Her heart pounded as she pushed them back. “You think Ravel’s alive?”

“Think about it,” Skulduggery pressed. Valkyrie sighed again as one of his detective rants started. “He designed the Splash. Do you think he would create and distribute it without testing it first?”

“He probably did test it.”

“And who’s the most ideal person to test something like this on?”

She frowned. “You think- “

“He used it on himself.”

“But improved reflections don’t hold souls, so how would using his reflection allow the Accelerator to shut down?”

“The Accelerator only _needed_ a core, Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said smartly, although his dark tone didn’t lighten. “And a core just so happens to be the one most important thing an improved reflection has.”

A moment stuttered between them as Valkyrie chewed her lip. Skulduggery was clearly angered with his findings, but something gave her the feeling he was excited also.

“Okay, say he _is _alive. So, what, you wanna hunt him down and torture him all over again? ‘Cus I don’t hold that kind of power anymore.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Valkyrie came to a realisation.

“Holy shit.”

She gaped at her partner. “You think he’s behind the drain-murders?”

“Who else would it be?” He continued writing for a moment, before drumming his pen on the desk in thought.

“What would he be killing and draining people for, though?”

Skulduggery pointed at her suddenly. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He stood and began pacing, pen now tapping against his collarbone. “Think for a moment. Bliss was having his power tapped from him in that building. The building _itself_ was impossibly structured. His power was being used to create and sustain the interior of the building.”

Valkyrie sighed. “He’s using magic to create extravagant infrastructure. Wow.”

“No. He’s using it to his advantage.” He stopped dead in front of Valkyrie, and she could see gears whirring in his brain – er, mind. “He used it to keep Bliss trapped while he siphoned his power for _another _source.”

“What other source?”

“You didn’t notice the power orb above him? No matter – that orb stores magic and allows for easy transportation. Perhaps he has other prisoners with whom he’s doing the same – use their power for their own cell and steal the rest.”

“Skulduggery, Cleavers scoped the area after we left. They searched every corridor, crack and crevasse. Bliss was the only prisoner.”

“Then they’re being held elsewhere. Somewhere that also uses magic to sustain itself.”

“We won’t find anyone anywhere. Whomever did this wouldn’t _need_ more prisoners when using Bliss’s power. His magic would be more than enough, right?”

“Then why the drain murders? Clearly, it isn’t.”

She shut up at that. He had a point, they both knew.

“Besides,” Skulduggery continued, inclining his head slightly, “You can’t just suck magic out of people on the streets. Our criminal is using specialist equipment. From what I gained from Bliss’s siphoning… machine, or whatever we decide to call it, it’s personalised, right down to the type of orb it generates.”

“I thought you said the orb stores magic,” Valkyrie frowned.

“It’s also _made _of magic. Sorry for not clarifying that sooner.”

Everything paused around them for a moment as Valkyrie contemplated this. It wasn’t a _ridiculous_ theory. Whomever was behind this certainly needed a lot of power for some monstrosity. It mightn’t hurt to investigate other areas, however with so little evidence to go off, it could well be a waste of time.

The odds of it being Erskine Ravel of all people rubbed her the wrong way. He was dead, for Christ’s sake. They’d been told the Accelerator needed a soul, not just a core. Well, if she was honest, Skulduggery may still be right – it’s not like they had asked, or if anyone really knew. But still, the improved reflection theory was a somewhat long stretch for someone like Ravel. He was a traitor beyond all treachery – a man hated on every mage-strewn sidewalk for his crimes against the Dead Men and the Sanctuary. Whether his treachery extended to cheating death… Valkyrie didn’t think it was possible, considering how regretful he’d been after his actions, and even more so following his condemnation.

In this world of magical mayhem, however, nothing seemed impossible, so she shoved the possibility to the back of her mind as she took in Skulduggery’s notes quickly, before he stored them. Words embedded themselves in her mind, facts and theories folding themselves neatly into her memory. She used her psych powers to draw the notes containing Ravel’s supposed continued existence to the forefront of her mind after Skulduggery tucked those papers away and read from behind her eyes.

‘_Improved reflection’ _stared her down from the mental page, and she glared at it while recouping the limited information about it Skulduggery had given her.

She chewed on all this before speaking again.

“And you’re completely hooked on this? You think Ravel’s our guy, and that he’s got more prisoners?”

“Yes. He at least has one or more current victims, according to his pattern. I do think he may also have more long-term prisoners, like Bliss, too.”

“You _think_,” she repeated. “Nothing here is solid.”

“Nothing ever is in detective work. Not until halfway through a case.”

“Skulduggery,” she crossed her arms, and regarded him sternly. “Let me make sense of this. We’ve got someone draining and murdering mages and stealing their power for whatever disaster they’re planning. We found Bliss alive, he told us Ravel is behind him still being here with this damn sigil, and now you suddenly think Ravel’s still alive as well, and that he’s behind this mess we’re dealing with?”

“You’re finally catching up,” Skulduggery responded humourlessly.

“Not only do you think he’s behind all this, you have no idea what his motives are, where he might be, or if and why he has prisoners, yet you _still_ want to look into this?” Skulduggery nodded. “You don’t think this is a wild goose-chase?”

“It might be. Or, it may progress our case. As I said, he has at least one victim captive now, according to his patterns.”

“That’s- we literally have less than the bare minimum to go off.”

“It’s better than nothing.”

“Skulduggery- “

“Look.” They locked eyes for a moment, and Valkyrie shifted her weight in discomfort. “There’s hardly any information or evidence here – I get it. We’ve got bodies, someone mysteriously returned from the dead, a very confusing sigil, a killer’s pattern, and some very strong hunches. That’s it.”

“Yeah, which is why- “

“Which is why it is all the more important we cross items off our list of possibilities. Many places around here are capable of shielding a criminal from prying eyes like ours. If we don’t at least _try_ and find something more, this case would be a definite dud, I’m sure. This guy is hiding everything somewhere, and if we don’t find it, people _will _perish.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t want that. There’s so much at stake here – so many lives could be at risk this very moment. I want to find them. We _must_ find them.”

Valkyrie tensed in shock at the forcefulness of his words. He sounded passionate about this, like it truly mattered to him more than the lives of a few strangers. A loose thread in his words – ‘I don’t want that’. What was so personal about this case to him?

His movements made her uneasy. He was incredibly fidgety today, with his fingers tapping away at the desk as he stared at the wall behind her in thought. Skulduggery, fidgety? He only ever fidgeted when something distressing happened.

That loose thread tied itself into her thoughts as it clicked – Skulduggery was upset.

Again, it made her ask: how did this affect him so _personally_?

Ravel. It must be. He thinks Ravel’s alive, and that alone angers him. Possibly even scares him.

Whatever it was, it was fuelling his drive for this case, so Lord be damned if it doesn’t help them finish it sooner.

Valkyrie sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. If there’s somewhere you think these poor souls might be, I’ll go with you. But I honestly doubt we’ll find anything.”

“Excellent cooperation, Valkyrie,” Skulduggery flashed false brightness. “Now, we know Bliss’s power was maintaining the building’s existence. What place would need power infused within it to work properly, and at the same time is enough of a maze and-or trap to hold prisoners?” He sat once again, rummaging through notes and draws. Valkyrie sat across from him, wracking her brains for any such places.

“What about the old Sanctuary?” she pondered aloud. Skulduggery shook his head.

“It had its enchantments removed and has been decimated and repopulated by mortals. No, this location would need to be completely abandoned, and disconnected from authority altogether.”

“Used for crime, maybe?”

“Maybe.”

A photograph fell onto the desk from a pile of paper Skulduggery retrieved from his bottom draw, and they both stared at it.

They locked eyes, and it clicked, as they exclaimed together, almost comically excited:

“The Midnight Hotel!”

******************************************************************************************************************************************

“What do you mean, you found nothing?”

“Skulduggery, calm down,” Valkyrie muttered through gritted teeth.

“Temper, might I remind you- “

“I’m sorry, Skulduggery,” Temper cut in, professionalism not faltering for a second. “Cleavers have searched the place. There’s nothing in any of the rooms, enchanted, cursed or otherwise.”

“What about under the building? Hotel’s vicinity?”

“Nothing. Naught a disturbance, or even trace of recent mage activity.”

Skulduggery’s fists clenched angrily, before he sagged, forcing himself to relax. He couldn’t complain here in front of Temper – not during work hours. Valkyrie placed a hand on his shoulder. “Of course,” he said stiffly.

“Before you go,” Valkyrie butted in as Temper was about to turn away. “Is there anywhere that’s been abandoned that could possibly be homing a psychopathic drain-murderer and-or potential victims?”

“Nothing that comes to mind. Apart from the old Sanctuary. Investigated that yet?”

“It’s been reinhabited,” Skulduggery said loudly, flicking invisible lint from his hat. “It’d be too risky for that kind of activity.”

“Then I cannot help you.”

“Thank you anyway, Temper,” Valkyrie said quietly, writing her notes.

“How’s the portal these days?” Skulduggery asked almost conversationally as he waited for her.

“It opens once a month, now. Typically, on the third or fourth, for about a week. We’re unsure how, but we know it’s a force from the inside.”

“You haven’t investigated?”

“Still waiting for my paperwork to be processed. Well, re-processed.”

“How painful.”

“Indeed.” Temper glanced over his shoulder. “You haven’t entered either?”

“You think I have the time? This case is pulling us in twenty directions at one time. I’m not letting direction twenty-one be a different universe.”

“Fair, fair.” Temper sighed. “Have to go. Punch bandits together sometime soon? Portal opens again in less than a week, and my paperwork should be processed by then, so…”

“If I can make time, certainly.”

Temper clapped Skulduggery’s shoulder and grimaced at them apologetically, before nodding and returning to his Cleavers. Back to professionalism in no time. Oh, how Valkyrie envied that trait.

Valkyrie pocketed her notebook as they trudged back to the Bentley. “Well,” she interrupted the silence. “That was a blast.”

“Sure was.” They sat in the car in silence, Skulduggery’s frustration a dangerous energy swirling around them.

“Should I bother with the ‘I told you so’ banter, or did I make my point?” She tried a playful smile, but he grunted dismissively, so she shrugged. “I guess it was only one place, after all, huh. What gives you the idea of more prisoners anyway?” she asked.

No response. Then, “I have a hunch.”

“Seem to have a lot of those.”

“It’s just my gut feeling, Valkyrie. Gut feeling.”

“Yeah, you and what gut?”

He laughed softly, a gentle rumble that dissipated some of his frustration. Valkyrie smiled. “So, what now?” she asked. Skulduggery turned to her, and merely shrugged.

“We go back over our notes, re-examine crime scenes, find more patterns, and put our culprit behind bars.”

She blinked at him. “So, you’re giving up on this ordeal?” she asked, motioning to the Cleavers.

“I’m leaving my hunches alone for now. If Ravel _is_ alive and behind this, it doesn’t change how we find him.”

“That’s very mature and non-anger-driven of you. Glad we can agree on it.”

The Bentley came to life, and they started their journey back to Skulduggery’s house.

Halfway there, Skulduggery’s phone rang.

He retrieved it from his pocket and passed it to her.

“Would you?”

She hummed and answered. “Arbiter Cain speaking.”

_“Valkyrie? Where’s Skulduggery?”_

Valkyrie beamed at the voice. “Tanith.” She glanced at Skulduggery, who showed no reaction. “He’s driving right now. Something you need?”

_“Well, err…”_ She heard Tanith swallow on the other side. _“I was checking out this sketchy-as neighbourhood, and uh…”_

“Did you find something?”

_“Did I ever.”_

“Alright, one second.”

The phone beeped as Valkyrie put her on loudspeaker and held the phone between her and Skulduggery.

“Tanith,” Skulduggery said loudly, not turning from the road. “A pleasant surprise.”

_“Wish I could say my reasoning was as great,”_ came the response.

“Why do you say that?”

_“As I told Valkyrie, I was exploring a neighbourhood west of Roarhaven, and I believe I found something linked to your case.”_

Skulduggery’s hands gripped the wheel tighter. “Is it another body?”

_“I- yes. It’s honestly disgusting.”_

“Has it been drained?” Valkyrie asked.

_“Yes.” _A pause. _“Well, I assume so. She’s all pale and shrivelled, and severely underweight.”_

“Do you have identification for her?” Skulduggery asked.

_“Not at the minute. She doesn’t have a wallet or anything with her right now. Been dead at least a week, too. Started decomposing in this alleyway. It stinks.”_

They hung up after receiving an address and detoured around Roarhaven to the mysterious neighbourhood.

It was dimly lit at this time of night, with barely any streetlights. The atmosphere was cold and dense with neglect. This was a town with no recognition, not even a name, and not a care in the world for its occupants.

Chills ran up Valkyrie’s spine as they turned down a relatively empty street, through the town’s main area. Shops lined each side, but all were closed, with doors chained and window shutters firmly shut. Homeless people littered the street, some digging through trashcans and others wrapped tightly in cotton scraps.

“This place is mortal. Guess the government really doesn’t give a shit about these poor people,” she muttered. Skulduggery grunted in response.

It was minutes later that they parked around the corner from the address. After traipsing around to meet Tanith, Valkyrie gagged at the scent.

“It’s even worse when you’ve been standing here for an hour,” that British voice chimed teasingly.

Skulduggery ignored the conversation and went straight to examining the body. It was pale, as Tanith had said, hued purple. Her clothes were tattered and torn, and scorched in some places. Her expression was of upmost terror. Skulduggery turned out the pockets, finding nothing more than an empty notebook and damaged pen. He then started tearing her clothes off, searching her body for injuries.

“Fractured skull, two broken ribs, brushing on her neck…”

“A bullet in her right shoulder,” Valkyrie pointed out helpfully. “Our case, alright.”

He nodded. “These extra injuries aren’t present on our other victims though,” he added. “Either she put up a fight, or they got sloppy.”

“Or angry,” Tanith added with a shrug.

“Or angry,” Skulduggery agreed. “’ll get Temper to send someone out here. Need the coroner to determine time and cause of death to see if it catalogues with our other victims.”

Tanith and Valkyrie stood together, away from the body as Skulduggery made the call.

“The hell did you do?” Tanith asked nervously.

“What?” Valkyrie raised a hand to her right eye. “Oh. Right. Got myself blinded by a ten-foot-tall guard.”

“Jesus. Will it heal?”

“It’s healing. Synecdoche said I’d make a full recovery.”

“Good.” Concern fled Tanith’s eyes as they glinted mischievously.

“What?” A smirk. “I know that look.”

“I… heard about your girl,” Tanith said slyly. Valkyrie rolled her eyes.

“And?”

“Spill the tea!”

Her grin was cheesy. “Well… okay. Militsa is, like, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Alongside you, of course.”

“I’m flattered. What’s her discipline?”

Valkyrie faltered. “I- “

“I’m kidding, Val. I already know.” Tanith became serious all of a sudden. “Promise me you’ll be careful though, yeah? We’ve had so many bad run-ins with Necromancers over the years. I couldn’t cope another.”

“Me neither. But Militsa is sweet. She’s like that motherly kind of girlfriend, one that cradles me to sleep when the nightmares are too much. Y’know?”

Tanith raised a brow. “And when you’re not home?”

“Away from home, it’s her voice that rocks me gently to sleep.”

“Pretty cringey.”

“I prefer cute,” Valkyrie pouted playfully. Tanith laughed.

“Whatever floats your boat.”

They flashed matching grins, just as Skulduggery returned.

“Temper’s sent a coroner over,” he said gruffly.

“Is she an elemental?” Valkyrie asked.

“Think so.” Skulduggery reached into his pocket and flicked some of that magic dust of his over the body. Valkyrie didn’t bother watching to see what colour it turned. “Yep. She is.”

“Was,” Tanith muttered. “I have to go. Catch up sometime?”

Valkyrie hugged her. “Definitely.”

They watched Tanith mount her motorcycle, and it revved to life as she sped off. Valkyrie frowned and strained her eyes to the movement across the street. She could just make out a figure in the darkness. “That’s not a homeless guy, is it?”

“Definitely not.”

Skulduggery went skulking past her, back to the wall as he watched the figure closely. It was hooded, and seemingly examining something in its hands. It looked up, its eyes glistening towards them.

It bolted, disappearing around a corner. Skulduggery started chasing, and Valkyrie ran after him. The figure was fast, but not fast enough as Skulduggery hovered over the ground, using the air to buffet his speed. The chase continued down several empty streets, the figure always taking a right turn unless none were given.

Valkyrie turned the final corner to see the figure backed against the wall. It – he – was clutching a wooden walking cane, and Skulduggery had his revolver pointed at the guy’s hooded face.

“Drop the hood.”

The guy smirked at them, as if they’d suggested something clever.

“Drop the hood,” Skulduggery repeated coldly.

Pale fingers gently tipped the hood back, just far enough for them to properly see his deep brown eyes. It fell completely, and they were stared down by Solomon Wreath. His smile only widened at their shock. Valkyrie stood there in a daze, mouth open and demonstrating her best startled fish impression.

“Look out!”

Valkyrie hit the ground with a gasp, and registered seconds later Skulduggery smothering her protectively as shadows swirled around them, and a glance back to Wreath announced him missing.

She sucked in deep breaths as she stood, her heart pounding as Skulduggery searched the area.

He voiced his frustration upon return. “He’s gone.”

“Okay, so, another one returned from the dead,” Valkyrie choked out, exasperated and staggering slightly. “Anyone else you expect to burst forth from the shadows, literally or figuratively?”

She hadn’t meant it rhetorically, but let it slide as they waited for the coroner to arrive. Gears were churning in Skulduggery’s mind again.

Wrapped once more in the Bentley’s warm – well, warm_er _– atmosphere, they sat in silence for a moment, before Skulduggery turned to her slowly.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” he said lowly. She didn’t miss the flicker of discomfort from his pinky on the wheel.

“Shoot,” she answered with a shrug.

“Not here. Not now. I…” he trailed off with an ‘I don’t know’ gesture. “I need time to consider it, to see if it’s worth pursuing.”

Valkyrie shrugged again. “Fine by me.”

The Bentley hummed to life, and they made their slow exit from the neglected town.

“You hungry? You must be hungry.”

“After examining a corpse like that? Not a chance.”

“McDonald’s okay with you?”

Valkyrie sighed. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holey- okay, so Bliss, the Dead Men, Ravel, and now Solomon-fucking-Wreath?! Who else is back from the dead?
> 
> Welp. That's for me to know, and you to find out.
> 
> Maybe. Only if you read more in the future.
> 
> But hey, isn't Valkyrie talking about Militsta adorable? Like, not gonna lie, I don't fully trust Militsa, and I currently don't have any written paths for her in this fan-fic thought-out yet. She's an interesting character, though, so I'll see what I can do ;)
> 
> Also, what do you think Skulduggery's brewing in his mind? What has him so fidgety and nervous? Is it Ravel? Or something else? o.O


	13. Dealing with the Devil

Wreath leaned against the wall and casually ran a hand through his hair. Wind whipped around him as a soft patter of rain started, the water soon carried at a harsh angle as it pooled around him. He didn’t bother with the umbrella next to him. He’d brought it out of courtesy to fit in with the townsfolk, not for actual use.

He clicked his cane against the ground in a soft rhythm, patient as he patted his breast pocket, ensuring the envelope was still there. The small orb next to it pulsed gently against his chest, almost like a second heart. It was strong, with power essentially pouring from it, making him feel warm. So warm, so strong and so _alive_.

The drizzle of rain soon turned into a belting, and he wiped drops from his face, attempting to tame his hair back. Shadows from his cane swirled around him as gentle yet protective company, soaking up some of the extra water in the atmosphere and mingling together in the moonlit sky. They tickled him with their wet warmth, urgent but somewhat tender, and he smiled to himself knowingly as he firmly tapped his cane twice. That familiar darkness encased him, and he stepped through a minute later, standing right at the usual spot.

Wreath felt it immediately, the weight on his soul as more, unfamiliar shadows loomed around him, a welcoming presence from his fellow Necromancers. He needn’t walk far from his point of arrival, as gold eyes soon homed in on him, and the world went quiet as his obedient darkness unravelled around them, twining them into a silenced, private little space that made the rest of the world disappear.

“Solomon Wreath,” said that smooth tone as he smiled at him brightly. “I appreciate your punctuality. Always on time.”

“Wouldn’t fail you, considering the debt you’re promising to repay.”

Ravel raised his brows. It was a neutral gesture. It wasn’t sceptical, or judgemental. It was just there.

“It will be payed, in due time.”

“It will be payed when we think it’s due, you mean.”

“Don’t ever change Solomon,” he chuckled lowly. “Don’t ever change.” His eyes twinkled in that strange way, enticing and dangerous. “You have them, then?”

“You listened before, yes? I wouldn’t fail you.”

“I have no doubt.”

Wreath withdrew the envelope and handed it to him. “Her identification and valuables. Money too, in case you were interested.”

Ravel rummaged through the items curiously. “I wasn’t, but I’ll consider it a bonus. Can never have too much of the stuff.”

“Exactly my thinking.”

“You didn’t find any Splashes on her, did you?” Ravel asked conversationally as he pocketed everything.

Wreath furrowed his brow. “Why do you ask?”

“She is, or _was_, incredibly skilled with them. A top designer.” Ravel folded his hands behind his back and inclined his head. “She was, in a way, my mentor when I created mine.”

“You don’t say?” Wreath replied, smiling slightly. “Unfortunately, she had no designs on her person when I found her. She did, however, have one fading on her arm.”

“Was that how she did that?” He looked down to see Ravel pointing at the large gash along his arm. Damn. He’d been trying so hard to hide it. Long fingers reached out to have a closer look, and Wreath fought winces of pain as his arm was turned over. “Painful?”

“Somewhat,” he grimaced. “The sigil was false Necromancy. I found it more insulting than painful, if I’m honest with you. You can’t mimicry Necromancy. It’s impossible, and disrespectful, if I might say.”

Those gold eyes glistened up at him, observing. He smiled passively.

“I can understand that,” Ravel said quietly, releasing his arm gently.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Wreath massaged his arm, and after a moment Ravel reached into his back pocket. “Here,” he said with a sly smile. “For the trouble.”

Wreath took the small leaf and chewed gratefully as the pain dampened. “Much appreciated.”

“Of course. I must keep my workers up to scratch.” Ravel loomed forward again, eyes trained on Wreath’s chest. He raised a subconscious hand to the soft thrumming over his heart and almost sighed as the orb’s power coddled him in warmth.

“You want this.” It wasn’t a question. Ravel’s eyes were roaming over it hungrily, expecting him to remove it. “I was hoping to keep it, actually. At least for a while longer. I could gather more power, to appease you.”

“Is that so?” Ravel said softly. “I’d allow it, if I didn’t require it for… well, I guess it’s about time you knew.” He walked away from Wreath, and he sped up to him, in order to keep their conversation private. “You see,” Ravel continued, not facing him. “After losing Bliss late yesterday afternoon, I lost my personal portal into the Leibniz universe. I’m unsure how the Cleavers missed the portal archway in that building, you know.” Wreath raised a questioning brow, which Ravel smirked at. “Yes, the portal was there. I was, logically, using it to travel between both universes. Those prisoners I told you about, and mentioned you couldn’t share the identities of with your brethren? I’ve trapped them there, and I need to get back in order to monitor them. To my inconvenience, it just so happens the portal back near Roarhaven will reopen in less than a week. By then, Skulduggery’s friend will have been granted access, in order to find the cause.

“While there, he’ll no doubt play detective inside the universe – under Skulduggery’s command. He’ll find my institute, and he’ll find _them_. We cannot allow that.”

“Another portal? That’s what this is for?” Wreath questioned, holding back a disbelieving laugh. “So you can hide your little prison?” He dropped his hand to his side and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Erskine, I’m not sure I can continue this.”

“No?” Ravel sounded questionably disappointed. “See, you’ve jumped to the conclusion I’m _only_ doing this for _myself_.” He turned from the strange archway and laced his hands in front of him. “You’ll get something out of this, too.”

Wreath narrowed his eyes. “And that something is…?”

Ravel smirked and drew a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. “This.”

Eyeing it curiously, Wreath took it from him, and his breath hitched as he read.

“If you hand me that orb and continue collecting for me,” Ravel took a step forward, and they locked eyes; “I will ensure you receive funding for your people’s projects, no matter how destructive or counter-intuitive they may be for my plans.”

Wreath let the thrill send shudders through him in the darkness, but it faded as he sighed. “As excellent as this sounds, the Sanctuary would never let this pass.”

“I have my way with words.”

“You’ll threaten them?” Wreath asked incredulously.

“Perhaps.”

“That’s a death sentence hanging in the air for you, Erskine.”

Ravel and his golden eyes grinned cockily. “Not the way I do it.”

Wreath took another moment to reread the legislation. Permission to openly experiment with their magic. Funding for more facilities. They’d be well on their way to a new death bringer. And all he needed to do was kill and drain a few useless mages?

“This does not override our original agreements, does it?”

“It does not. You will be rewarded with both.”

“Well then. You have yourself a deal,” Wreath decided with a wide smile as he reached into his breast pocket once more. The orb pulsed at his touch, so warm and enticingly powerful and _God he wanted to feel its magic forever…_ but no, he couldn’t. He was doing this for his people, not himself.

So, he grabbed it and abruptly removed it from against his chest and thrust his arm out to Ravel. A seeping cold took over him as Ravel took it and turned to gently place it in one of the holsters at the base of the arch – what he now knew was the portal gateway. He watched him place more orbs in place, until the dozen or so slots were filled. They both stepped back, and rain pounded against them once more as the darkness folded against it at Wreath’s will. The two men, along with the now surrounding crowd of Necromancers, watched awestruck as the portal widened completely, a blinding light reflecting against everything shining wet around them.

“Finally,” Ravel hissed beside him. They locked eyes again, and Wreath didn’t fail to notice the mischief and excitement bubbling there. “It’s time. Follow me.”

He watched as Ravel stepped through the portal, and when he didn’t return for a moment, he shrugged to his fellow Necromancers. “You heard the man. Follow.”

Wreath didn’t hesitate another moment, and he stepped forward, passing through the light.

_The difference struck him immediately. The area was deserted, all dry grass and dehydrated earth. Debris in the form of brick and wood littered every step, with the occasional body accompanying the mess. Wreath could feel that this land had experienced a high level of death and could imagine fires raging through the expanse of flat land around him, licking at village buildings and torching townspeople down. Perhaps gunfire reigned too, shooting down the unlucky few who survived the flames. War, that’s what it was. A war well lost._

_A large building stood far off in the distance, towering over the abandoned plains._

_Ravel stepped up beside him, and he looked at him sideways. “Such a beautiful, desolate place. It isn’t all like this, mind. Not far over there is an abandoned oasis, with abundant resources. It’s also very pretty, but not like this. This is… handsomely devastating, you know?”_

_“A lot of death happened here,” Wreath murmured, deciding not to counter his statement, nor agree._

_“Indeed.”_

_“That your structure there?”_

_“It is.”_

_“It isn’t very well hidden.”_

_Ravel’s eyes flared at him for a moment, before he started to walk. “No. I suppose not. It is hard to keep a shunted building hidden when all control over its placement relies on the will of the universes.”_

_Wreath didn’t answer to this. He glanced behind him as the last couple of Necromancers filed through. The shadows encircling them all were empowered by the amount of death in their surroundings, and Wreath felt a smirk tug at his lips at the thought of vanquishing foe with this level of power._

_They walked onwards, trudging through the sludgy grass towards the massive structure. No conversation revolved around the task at hand – his fellow Necromancers were being kept in the shadows. They couldn’t know the prisoners; they couldn’t know Wreath’s deals with Ravel. They were blindly trusting him, and he prayed it wouldn’t backfire._

_Wreath took a good, hard look at Ravel. His face was somewhat gaunt, illuminated by his glowing gold eyes. His jaw was lightly brushed with tamed stubble, and his teeth gleamed as he smiled brightly at their destination. Ravel’s excitement poured from his being, as a lightness in his movements lent a pep in his step as they walked. It was an insanity Wreath could appreciate – a thrill for obliteration was a thrill worth pursuing in his eyes._

_“I realise I may be dashing, Solomon, but I didn’t think of you as the homosexual type,” Ravel teased._

_“I’m not,” Wreath defended. “I simply admire your exhilaration at this level of destruction.”_

_“Ah,” Ravel smiled at him slyly. “You Necromancers and your love of the morbid.”_

_“You would’ve made a fine Necromancer yourself, Erskine.”_

_“I beg to differ. I have my own special powers.”_

_Wreath cocked his head at him. “Forgive me for any offense, but what’s so special about Elemental magic? It’s very common.”_

_That smile widened dangerously. “All in good time.”_

_Wreath waved the answer away as the group trudged onwards, and changed the subject. “What is it you require them for?” he asked, motioning behind him to the pack of Necromancers._

_“My guards have since quit their posts,” Ravel responded, all humour drained from his face. “I had to take them out.”_

_“You executed your workers.”_

_“Ex-workers. They would’ve stabbed me in the back, should I turned a blind eye.”_

_“I can’t imagine you being so naïve, Erskine.”_

_“Me neither. As you can imagine, I require solid defences in order to maintain a haunting prison for these men. I understand your brethren may be discomforted by the idea of having their powers dampened inside the building, however most posts will be within the outskirts.”_

_“They’ll be guarding them, but never entering their cells?”_

_Ravel considered this for a moment. “Should my trust extend to them further, I’ll allow them to assist in the treatment of my prisoners. For now, though…”_

_“For now, they’ll be guards, blindly following my lead.”_

_“A very pessimistic approach from you, Solomon. Just remember the debt to be paid. You and your family will thrive with power, and this is all I ask in return.”_

_Wreath nodded at the ground, processing this. He looked up to answer but frowned at the building not a hundred metres from them, to something wooden laying in the long grass just outside the doorway. “Is the door supposed to be on the ground?”_

_Ravel, who’d turned to address the Necromancers behind them, whipped back around and glared at the structure, before running forward. Wreath followed with a hand raised to keep the others at bay. He knelt with Ravel beside the door, and saw those pearly whites gritting together in anger._

_“No,” Ravel answered coldly. “It’s not.”_

_Wreath looked at him sceptically as they stood. “When were you here last?”_

_They started walking, and it took Ravel a moment to respond. “Yesterday afternoon. I arrived back home just before Bliss was removed.”_

_“When did your guards leave?”_

_“Day before.”_

_He nodded, as Ravel turned to his family of shadowy beings._

_“I request five volunteers to scope this building out. I have a map with me,” he drew a piece of paper from his pocket; “so you won’t get lost.”_

_Three eager Necromancers came forward, two others following hesitantly. Ravel beamed at them with false brightness. “Excellent.” He held out the map. “In you go.”_

_Wreath didn’t watch them enter. He was transfixed at Ravel’s sudden mood change. The man was always calm and collected._

_Not now. Now, he was _scared_._

_Angry too, Wreath had to note, as Ravel addressed the dark crowd once more._

_“The rest of you. With me.”_

_Wreath followed him without speaking. The overpowering emotions threatening to spill from Ravel’s being were dangerous – a new darkness he didn’t fancy exploring. His eyes were sparkling more than usual, with what Wreath guessed to be a warning._

_They traipsed around the building, in the direction Ravel had mentioned held the abandoned oasis. Wreath could only just see it in the distance if he strained his eyes enough – tall trees in the distance dancing as heatwaves distorted their image. He looked to the ground where no grass grew and saw several sets of footprints were marked and dried, leading towards the distant trees._

_Ravel had seen them too, and he exchanged an angry glance with Wreath, before picking up speed._

_Everyone followed, and soon Ravel’s steps became fast walking, slow jogging, running…_

_And before Wreath knew it, his cane clutched tightly beside him, he and everyone else was sprinting towards the faraway oasis._

_There was a certain determination in everyone’s step – a will to fight and a want for power over the weak. Of course, his fellow Necromancers were unaware of just who they were chasing, but the thrill caught them up all the same as time and miles passed underfoot._

_It only took a couple of those many miles for Wreath to run out of breath – he wasn’t built for sprinting, especially such a far distance. He commanded his shadows with a flick of his cane, and they swerved around everyone. Some gasped in shock, others laughed at his cheat. The power of the dead universe flowed through his shadows, empowering them as they encircled the group completely, and a moment later they stepped out, less than a mile from the trees in front of them._

_Ravel flashed him a grateful smile, before everyone took off again, charging forwards. The anticipating hum of his dark family strengthened, some laughing with unconstrained excitement. Underneath him, Wreath spotted more footprints – these ones more recent – and he redirected everyone to follow them. Ravel nodded and took lead._

_They all slowed as they stepped into the oasis, everyone coming to a halt as gaping expressions awed at the beautiful environment. The footsteps stopped here, as recently raining clouds drifted away overhead._

_Tall, lush trees grew around the entire few miles or so of the jungle-like area. A wide river rushed full speed down further than Wreath could see in one direction. Mushrooms and berry bushes littered the floor, with ferns and shrubs sending some unobservant Necromancers stumbling. Insects buzzed, small frogs hopped, and fish leapt in and out of the sparkling water. Wreath marvelled at how such a rich and well-preserved oasis could grow so ignorant to the dead land around it. His fellow Necromancers appeared to be similarly awed._

_“It’s beautiful!” one of them said._

_“Gorgeous…” whispered another._

_“Marvellous!”_

_“Yes, yes,” Ravel interrupted, waving his hands for attention. “An amazing growth amongst dead environment, it’s a wonder even the most morbid humans can enjoy. I get it.” He smoothed out his annoyed features as he stood on a nearby rock to gain height and authority. “But I didn’t run us down here to gape at the wonder of this untouched, abandoned beauty. You are aware we are here for prisoners of mine. They appear to have escaped, and I cannot allow their freedom to last, as they’ll attempt to return to our universe._

_“The portal opens soon, and, to my dismay, it appears not far from this very oasis – merely a hundred miles.”_

_“A hundred miles?” a guy dressed in deep red asked incredulously. “You call _that_ close?”_

_“I do,” Ravel responded coldly, making the guy cower. “It would be an easy distance for these men, considering they travelled here and beyond just this morning.”_

_“Sorry sir…”_

_Ravel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately, their footsteps have been washed away by recent rain. Whilst I know the position of the portal, they do _not_. This means they could’ve continued in any odd direction.”_

_Wreath smirked. “Might I make an observation?” Ravel gave him an up-nod. “They haven’t any food or water with them, so they’d need to remain within the oasis’s boundaries to survive.”_

_“Do these people even know they’re in an alternate universe?” that same guy in red asked._

_“Hopefully not,” Ravel answered. Wreath raised his brows at the contemplative look he received from him. There was a moment of silence before Ravel continued with a grin. “I have a plan. Solomon, divvy your men into groups while I prepare.”_

_Wreath nodded and took Ravel’s place upon the stone. Their shoulders brushed, and Ravel grabbed Wreath’s shirt on his way down._

_“They cannot know,” he said lowly. “Yet these men cannot escape.”_

_“What do you suggest I do?”_

_Ravel narrowed his eyes at the dark figured before him. “Choose two of your most trusted men. They will follow us in the direction of the final footsteps, as that is the most likely direction they chose.”_

_“And everyone else?”_

_“Will scope out the vicinity.”_

_Wreath thought for a moment. “What will you do if a different group finds them?”_

_Ravel shrugged as he pulled away. “Panic, probably.”_

_Wreath took his position of temporary power, and grabbed two of his brethren to follow him and Ravel: a guy dressed all in black, with short curly black hair and his look finished with eyeliner; and a young lady, also dressed in black, with honey-blonde hair and dark brown eyes. They were eager, if the guy somewhat blank, and thanked him for the task._

_It took half an hour or so to divide the remaining thirty or so into groups, with many complaining over not being chosen._

_“Deal with it,” Wreath growled when one guy argued too far. “I’ve already chosen my two, now suck it up and stick with your group!”_

_“Well said, Solomon,” Ravel said loudly. Wreath turned to see him donning different attire – instead of his black clothing, he wore a dark green, long-sleeved one-piece. He’d guess it to be for camouflage, if he were so naïve. The lack of ripples told him it was, indeed, protective clothing and, although he didn’t remember Ravel bringing it with them, the man held a plastic bag holding many more outfits._

_“You’ll need these. They’re protective. I packed enough for everyone.”_

_“We have to get changed?” one obnoxious girl asked, jaw working furiously at chewing gum. “Here? In front of everyone?”_

_Ravel’s face froze and Wreath sensed his patience growing thin._

_“I’m sure that won’t be a problem, considering how _mature_ you all are.”_

_The girl huffed but grabbed an outfit along with everyone else._

_“Not going to wear one, Solomon?” Ravel asked curiously as they turned away from the undressing mob of necromancers._

_“Mine’s already protective, just a different material.”_

_“Ah.”_

_“Apologies for the lack of… cooperation. I said not to question your authority but, here we are. Wasting time.”_

_Ravel grimaced. “What can I expect? Must be frustrating, knowing nothing.”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_Once finished, the Necromancers returned to their groups, and Ravel took his place on top the stone._

_“Excellent. Group one, that way.” He pointed to the other side of the river, directly in front. “Groups two and three,” he pointed either side of group one’s position. “Group four,” a sharp jabbing point behind him; “group five,” a point downstream the way they came; “and lastly, group six will camp here, in case they return.” Group six looked disappointed. Ravel smiled passively. “Everyone know where they’re going?” There was no response. “Great. Off you go.”_

_“What, no instructions?” one guy asked, frowning._

_Ravel sighed. “Your task is to find my prisoners and drag them back here. What other instructions do you need?”_

_Point made; Ravel hopped down. There was a low muttering from the groups of Necromancers, before they dispersed in their given directions. The selected guy and girl, Lucifer and Ali, stood ready._

_“At least some of you are prepared,” Ravel said with exasperation. “We’re heading downstream, the way I suspect they headed.” He and Wreath took lead, with the two youngsters trudging along behind._

_The fish followed them on their journey downstream. They walked in silence for a while, until Lucifer and Ali gained confidence and came to walk beside them._

_“Did you name yourself after Satan?” Ravel asked Lucifer out of the blue. Wreath smirked and watched Lucifer blink slowly before answering._

_“Not directly. I was opposed to it, originally. However, the mental pull towards it before I made the change official was… exceedingly persuasive. So, I decided to wear it with honour.” He smiled, dark eyes homing in on gold. “What about you?”_

_“My name? I was in your same situation, really. Drawn to something I disliked. My first name doesn’t define anything, exactly. My last name, however…”_

_“What significance does it hold?” Ali asked curiously. The group wandered around a group of large bushes, continuing along the riverbank, eyes peeled for footprints or disturbances._

_“It’s quite complicated,” Ravel explained. “You see, in old English, Ravel meant to tangle or… roll up. Nowadays, however, it means the same as unravel – to untangle. The original meaning was what I strived for back then, because it meant I had enemies twined around my fingers, ready to manipulate and pull the strings to my heart’s content.”_

_“Wow,” Ali breathed. “That’s dark.”_

_“Sure is,” Ravel chuckled. “Quite insignificant now, of course, what with modern English ruining definitions left, right and centre.” He smiled at the young girl. “Although, it holds another definition too.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“In France, during the Middle Ages, it was also known as ‘rebel’.”_

_“Oh, cool! And was that an attracting element for you?”_

_“Certainly was.” He looked her up and down. “What about you, young Ali?”_

_She paused, uncertain. “Ali’s my given name. It’s never caused me trouble, and I like it, so…”_

_“Ah,” Wreath said lowly. “A lucky one, you are. Very few can safely retain their given name.”_

_“I’ve heard.”_

_“What about you, Solomon?” Ravel asked, peeling away from the group to inspect a nearby fruit bush. “What’s your name to you?”_

_Wreath shrugged. “Not much.”_

_“Not much?”_

_“No. Much like yourself and young Lucifer here, my name wasn’t exactly by choice.”_

_Lucifer snorted. “I’m surprised they still nickname it a ‘chosen’ name, honestly.”_

_“You and I both,” Ravel responded. He was frowning, however._

_“Found something, boss?” Lucifer asked quietly._

_“Berries have recently been removed.” Wreath’s gaze followed Ravel’s vague gesture to the plant._

_“I see,” he answered slowly. “They can’t be- “_

_“Mister Ravel, sir!”_

_They whipped their heads around fast at Ali’s urgent call. She was pointing down the hill in front of them, and they followed hastily. Behind a bunch of tall palm trees, just down next to the river, lay a few figures. Wreath smirked._

_“Excellent spotting, my dear,” Ravel praised Ali. “Now, we mustn’t be too hasty, lest we alert them to our presence too soon.”_

_“What’s your plan?” Lucifer asked._

_“Still deciding on it.”_

_“Might a make a suggestion?” Wreath interrupted. Ravel raised a brow at him._

_“You’ve been helpful already, so shoot.”_

_“We’ve got enough shadows easily. Why not just transport them back? Quick and easy.”_

_Ravel nodded and grinned. “Alright. Quietly now, then. Follow me.”_

_The four of them made their steady descent down the hill. Upon getting closer, Wreath recognised a shimmering barrier around the resting men, and signalled to halt._

_“Solomon?” Ravel hissed, professionalism dropping as his frustration took over. “What- “_

_“You don’t see that?”_

_“It’s a druid’s protection,” Lucifer said breathlessly._

_“Yeah, Hopeless is a druid. So what? You Necromancers literally fight them twenty-four-seven. It’ll be fine.”_

_“We cannot move them, Erskine,” Wreath said with urgency. “Druidic powers cannot be properly combatted with Necromancy. We cannot penetrate his shield.”_

_“Transport them with it then.”_

_“We can’t, sir,” Ali whispered. Ravel scowled, and they retreated back up the hill._

_“Any other ideas, then?” Ravel asked._

_“Why don’t we wait for them to move?” Ali suggested._

_“We’d be here forever!”_

_“Probably not,” Lucifer butted in. “They don’t know where they are – they’ll try discovering it.”_

_“And?”_

_“They can’t do that from one place,” Wreath finished. He nodded at Lucifer and Ali. “Smart pair, you are.”_

_Ravel sighed and pinched his nose. “Fine. We’ll wait.”_

_They each took a seat on varying rocks. Wreath took notice of Lucifer glancing frequently at Ali. The young man started plucking flowers from a bush, and was seemingly knotting them together into a ring. A flower crown, for the young lady._

_“Aww, how sweet of you, Lucifer!” Ali said, happily accepting the crown and placing it on her head. “It’s beautiful.”_

_“Just like you,” Lucifer responded with a wink, and Wreath had to stifle laughter._

_Ali giggled, as Ravel groaned. “A cheesy love-story now,” he grumbled. “Fantastic.”_

_Thankfully, it took less than an hour of waiting around doing nothing for the men below them to stir from their relaxing. They hadn’t been sleeping – from what Wreath could see, it was more like a congregation, to discuss plans. With Ravel repositioning the air to silence their footsteps, the four made their way down the hill once more, and took shelter behind some palm trees and bushes, not far off their targets._

_“Holy shit!” Lucifer said loudly. Wreath and Ravel shushed him, as Ali looked at him in confusion. Wreath took notice of the druidic barrier slowly retracting._

_“What?” she asked in a whisper._

_“That’s- but- they’re… they’re…”_

_He stared at Ravel in disbelief._

_“The Dead Men…”_

_Ali gasped as Ravel nodded. “Yes, they are,” Ravel responded coolly._

_“Why are you imprisoning them?” Ali asked, wide-eyed._

_“Because. I am.”_

_“But- “_

_“Enough questions,” Wreath hissed. “They’re getting ready to leave. Now’s our chance.”_

_Indeed, the Dead Men were now standing, except one, who was being carried. One was sporting bandages, others bleeding injuries. He recognised the scarred man, Bespoke, immediately. His broadness was replaced by weakening malnutrition, making him an easier target than usual._

_Of course, there was Shudder, a terrifying man if ever he saw one, whittled down to an injured, teetering man of little strength. There was a blonde and a brunette – predictably Vex and Rue – who were clearing the sight._

_The man being held, and the man holding him, were new to Wreath, however. Since his power had just been used, he assumed the guy standing to be Hopeless, and the other Larrikin. The barrier finished flowing away, just as they all positioned themselves for attack._

_“They cheated me,” Ravel glowered, teeth gritting. “They won’t get away.”_

_“No,” Wreath agreed. “They won’t.”_

_Just then, Lucifer shifted his position. His foot caught on a rock however, and he stumbled, before falling…_

_And rolling straight down the hill._

_“Look out!” Rue called; revolver pointed at the young Necromancer once he reached the bottom. Wreath face-palmed as Lucifer stood, hands raised in surrender._

_“Uh, hi,” he said dumbly._

_“Who are you?” Bespoke asked warily, his gun also raised ready._

_“Lucifer.”_

_“Lucifer? As in, Satan?” Vex laughed._

_“Not exactly.”_

_“State your business here, Lucifer,” Shudder said coldly, shoving Vex out of the way._

_“Dragging you back where you belong,” Ravel called from his position, stepping into sight. Wreath followed suit and revelled in the widening of eyes among the group. He could almost _smell_ the fear. Ali stepped out next to him, jittering nervously as shadows twirled around her obediently._

_“I thought I sensed something,” Hopeless said coldly, and that shimmering barrier made its slow return._

_“Now!” Ravel yelled._

_Wreath clicked his cane, and his beautiful shadows came forward, piercing the weak barrier even as it began to form. There was a cry from the druid as he dodged, his friend sprawling on the ground, still unconscious. That barrier made another attempt at reforming, but Wreath’s shadows dived once again. All the Dead Men dodged, with Shudder rolling Larrikin out of the way._

_Bespoke’s revolver went off, to no result. Wreath’s shadows soaked up every bullet, spitting them back out almost in disgust._

_“A gun cannot _begin_ to combat Necromancy,” Wreath bellowed with laughter. He stepped into the middle of the group. “You’re a fool to think otherwise.” He looked around in search of Lucifer and Ali. He frowned to Ravel. “Where’d they go?”_

_Ravel shrugged, just as confused. “Fled. Cowards.”_

_Wreath turned back to the Dead Men, to receive a punch from Bespoke. He cursed, sliding under the next, and directing his elbow backwards in retaliation. Bespoke grunted, and grasped for his cane, so Wreath smacked it against his head, commanding shadows at the same time._

_Darkness snaked around Bespoke’s neck, and Wreath stepped back to watch him writhe and struggle. He heard a growl, and instantly dodged under Vex’s oncoming fist. His shadows obediently followed his demand, encasing Vex entirely, and lifting him into the air._

_“You cannot win,” Wreath said loudly, glaring at the idiotic blonde. He noticed Ravel fighting off Shudder and Rue, and sent a shadow to assist. “We already have the advantage, what with you all so weak. My power is simply a bonus.”_

_Rue was next off the ground, twisting and gasping against the strong hold on him, and Shudder soon followed, hands wrenching desperately at the tendrils around his chest. Ravel sent a smirk Wreath’s way, as he stepped towards Hopeless, whose eyes were closed. Concentrating on his power, probably._

_“Well, well, Hopeless,” Ravel said dangerously. “I see you didn’t like playing my game.”_

_Hopeless’s eyes snapped open. “Who would?”_

_Wreath put his hand up helpfully, and Ravel chuckled, with a motion his way. Wreath stepped up to the unconscious Larrikin and gently stroked the young face with his cane._

_“So young,” he said quietly. “How old is he?”_

_“Older than you, probably,” Hopeless answered through gritted teeth. Wreath prodded Larrikin’s still, rosy cheek. “Quit touching him like that!”_

_He looked up, smiled innocently and did it again. “Like what?” he asked cockily. A shadow unravelled from behind him, and he sent it straight to the druid. Hopeless rippled the air forcefully, knocking the shadow off-course. It still reached its destination, however; and made to snake around Hopeless’s torso, but shrivelled in the intense sunlight directed at it from Hopeless’s oncoming sunfire._

_“Astral powers? After a hundred years of being powerless?” Wreath breathed. “Impossible.”_

_“Not so,” Hopeless answered. A beam of moonfire came through, and Wreath stumbled as he caught it face first. He was blinded for a moment, eyes tearing from searing pain, but looked up to see Ravel and Hopeless caught in close combat._

_A hand suddenly slugged him from behind, and he spun to see Bespoke stumbling in exhaustion, but somehow strong enough to sending a bruising punch directly to his face. He caught it, twisted underneath it, and directed his shadows to continue strangling him. With Bespoke struggling once more, Wreath’s shadows redirected themselves to Hopeless. They wrapped around the druid, catching him unawares. They encased him completely, so not even his face was visible for a moment, until he submerged, snarling angrily._

_“Got you,” Ravel said with a grin._

_“No thanks to you, traitor.”_

_Ravel glowered. “I held you off him. Who knows how your powers could’ve- “_

_“Let us go, Ravel,” Shudder said coldly. Wreath amused himself by turning around and seeing him continue to struggle against his bonds._

_“And ruin my master plan, just for you morons? Don’t think so, Anton.”_

_Looking around, Wreath relished in the helpless struggling. Judging by his almost maniacal chuckling, so did Ravel. The overbearing power of this universe was flooding Wreath’s veins. The thrum of it buzzed through his fingertips, into his cane and, lastly, into his obedient darkness as it convulsed around his trapped victims. It was quite a thrilling experience._

_He turned whilst looking, careless to forget about Larrikin by his heel. He smirked down at the unconscious man – boy? He looked like a teenager – and prodded his cheek again._

_“He’s really out cold, huh?”_

_“Leave him alone!” Hopeless bellowed, arms struggling through the shadows._

_Wreath grinned at him. “Well, Erskine and I are in control around here. So, how about… no.”_

_He continued prodding for a moment, before glancing up at him again. He saw a reddish light beginning to penetrate the shadows, and chuckled lowly. “Now, Hopeless, none of that.” It stopped immediately when he shifted the darkness to his neck. Hopeless struggled further, more frantically, as he made quiet, choking noises._

_Wreath felt a slow movement next to his foot and frowned. He glanced down in time to see Larrikin grasp his cane tight around the middle and pull. The way it bent was dangerous and sharp, and the wood splintered from the brute force._

_“No!” he yelled. He pulled back and smashed the broken half in his hand over the man’s head, knocking him unconscious once more. The thrilling buzz of power faded to nothing, and Wreath instantly felt endangered; exposed. He spun and was met by angry snarls and glares from the Dead Men as they picked themselves up off the floor._

_“Now who’s in control, Wreath?” Rue asked darkly. Wreath swallowed and backed up towards the fumbling Ravel._

_“Shit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H-hello? Anyone still reading? It's been ages since I've updated, but here I am! My chapters are starting to get longer :D I have another five or so chapters written that I just need to title and edit, so you may see some more today, or another day in the near future :)
> 
> Also, can we just appreciate Larrikin's moment there? He saved literally everyone with a single, small action! He's a smart lil cookie :3
> 
> Stay tuned for more!~


	14. Cuddles & Contemplation. Any Questions?

_Valkyrie sighed as she leaned into Militsa’s gentle hold and wiped another tear from the corner of her eye. She sniffled, softly crying as those dark images threaded through her mind, even though the dream itself had faded to nothing._

_“It’s alright, Val,” Militsa soothed, running a hand through her hair. “Just another nightmare. You’re home. You’re safe. It’s just in your head.”_

_“I know,” she croaked, wriggling in discomfort. “That’s why it hurts.”_

_Militsa gave her an odd look. “What do you mean?”_

_They both sat up slowly, and Valkyrie sniffled as they faced each other fully. “These memories – these events in my head… they don’t go away, Mili. They cycle on repeat throughout every night, haunting me and causing me distress.”_

_“That’s why I’m here,” Militsa murmured. She pressed a loving kiss to Valkyrie’s forehead. “You can tell them all to me.”_

_“Yes, but what does that achieve? What does burdening someone else with my nightmares do for me? It’s a losing situation for us both.”_

_“You’ve got weight on your shoulders, Valkyrie. You’ve got doubts and guilts, and fears for the future. The world’s fate constantly lies with you. Surely, removing even the tiniest piece of that weight would help even a small bit.” She smiled at her then, stroking her hair. “Why don’t you drop it here with me, sweetheart? I can handle it, I promise.”_

_Valkyrie gave her a once-over, swallowed, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.”_

_“That’s all I ask.”_

_She took a deep breath, then started to explain. “All those years ago, when I first dived into this madness, I never expected to be hunting bad guys and saving the world. I was curious, and honestly a bit stupid. I didn’t know what I was meddling with, so I jumped to conclusions. I meddled. I tried, and occasionally failed, but none of that mattered – I was just learning, and that learning curve meant consequences didn’t occur for those actions. The world was still safe if I fell off a building._

_“But now… You’re right. The world depends on me. And my actions in the past years did hold disastrous consequences.”_

_“A lot of which you’ve resolved,” Militsa reminded her. Valkyrie huffed a single, humourless laugh._

_“Yeah. But those aren’t the ones I dream of at night, Mili.” She glanced down at her lap and chewed her lip nervously. “Those consequences don’t keep me awake. Whilst I have the occasional nightmare of the events occurring in those times, I’m mostly over it. They don’t have the same effect anymore.”_

_“Then what’s stressing you, Val?”_

_“It’s what could have happened – or what will happen. I think about if I hadn’t retrieved Skulduggery from the Faceless Ones. The world would’ve perished a million times over already, if it weren’t for him. I imagine the world burnt to a husk, with those deformed, hideous creatures floating around and shrieking whilst manipulating the world to their will, and… that’s only the tip of the iceberg, Mili. What if I made us lose the battle of the Sanctuaries, or if Darquesse still reigned, or what if… what if…”_

_“Oh...”_

_Valkyrie broke off, tears welling as she finally looked up. Her breathing was heavy, and out of control. Militsa’s eyes were wide with worry, and a hand came up to cup Valkyrie’s cheek as her words dissolved into sobs._

_“Valkyrie, darling, calm down,” Militsa cooed. “None of those scenarios taunting you happened. It’s all in the past, hon. They won’t happen. I promise you, everything’s okay.”_

_“All the times I’ve come close to failing. How long will it take for me to break? How long will I last before I snap, before I slip up and bring everyone’s world-saving efforts crashing down? How long, Mili?” Valkyrie paused, and waited for an answer that didn’t arrive. “What if I fuck this case up? We have nothing to go off. We can’t follow anything, because everything is yanking us in different directions. What if I mess it up?” Her voice cracked on those last few words, and she covered her mouth to stop herself from being a bigger fool._

_Militsa licked her lips, and Valkyrie swore for a moment she’d poked a hole in her girlfriend’s calming defences. Nothing was said for a moment as they just looked at each other. Valkyrie took in the curly, ginger hair she adored, and those beautiful, glistening eyes. The caring in their depths was limitless, but somehow Valkyrie doubted even that infinite amount would soothe her._

_Of course, though, there was no stopping Militsa Gnosis._

_“Listen to me, Val,” she whispered, resting their foreheads together. “You’re amazing. You’ve survived horrid Gods. You’ve defended the world from evils unimaginable. Hell, you’ve defeated yourself – both literally and figuratively. So, don’t you dare doubt your ability. Don’t you dare believe you’re this planet’s burden. Because you’re not. You’re a wonderful young lady, with immense power. You’re strong, honey.”_

_“Am I?” Valkyrie pulled away and gazed into Militsa’s eyes once more. “Do you classify strong as being someone afraid of sleep because of ridiculous nightmares?”_

_“Yes,” Militsa confirmed, pulling Valkyrie back. “Because even though you’re afraid, you’ve pushed forward. You’ve broken that wall of denial, of saying everything’s fine. You’ve asked for help, and, despite the nightmares, you make the effort to sleep. You face those horrors every night, and guess what?” She held Valkyrie’s face in both hands. “You’re still here. Despite the guilt, despite the fear, despite the burdens this universe has dumped upon you – you fight on. That, Valkyrie. That is what I call strong.”_

_Valkyrie stole a gentle kiss, a soft brush of her lips against Militsa’s. Her girlfriend let out a soft, surprised laugh, but kissed back. It was chaste, but sweet, and Valkyrie pulled away after a moment, and took a good, long look at her beautiful girlfriend, before leaning back in. They kissed again; this time more passionate as Militsa’s lips slotted with hers properly. They panted when they broke apart, foreheads once again nestled together. It was a gesture Valkyrie would always appreciate._

_“I love you, Mili.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

******************************************************************************************************************************************

Valkyrie tore herself from last weekend’s memory and smiled goofily at the waiter serving her food.

“Thanks,” she muttered, coming to and looking at the table in embarrassment.

“Enjoy your meal.”

Valkyrie dug into her food, enjoying the salty loaded fries. Such a treat.

“I see he caught you daydreaming,” Skulduggery teased from behind her after a while. She waved his comment away.”

“Have you contemplated the thing you were contemplating?” she asked, wiping her face with a napkin.

Skulduggery tilted his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes. Yes, I have, actually.”

Valkyrie raised a brow and gave him an expectant look over the rim of her cup. “And?”

“And what?”

“Is it worth pursing?”

“Ah,” Skulduggery finally took a seat across from her. “See, Valkyrie, just because I _have_ contemplated something, doesn’t mean I’ve _finished_ contemplating it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Have you _finished_ contemplating it?”

He leaned back in his seat and was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

Valkyrie sighed. “Care to tell it to me then?”

“No.”

She almost choked on her burger at his reply.

“No?”

“No.”

“Right. Why ever not?”

Skulduggery leaned forward again, and Valkyrie detected that agitation again as he clasped his hands on the table. His façade expressed his deep thinking as the dark features furrowed in thought.

“Is it not worth reading into?” she asked.

“I believe it might be,” he answered slowly. “I’ll explain when we get home. I’m just… not sure you’ll quite take me seriously.”

Valkyrie chuckled. “Like I do anyways.”

Skulduggery raised a hand and mocked offense. “You think I’m a joke?”

“You’re a walking, talking skeleton. Please, how could I _not_ think you’re a joke.”

“I’m deeply offended.”

“I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

“Will I, now?”

“Mhm.”

Valkyrie swallowed the last of her meal, and stood, brushing crumbs from her lapel. “You paying for dessert, or am I?”

“Dessert? After you’ve so rudely insulted me?”

“Hint taken.”

Valkyrie made her way to the counter, reading the dessert options from the display boards. She was about to order, when a voice from behind called out to her.

She turned, to see a familiar head of bright ginger bustling past customers to reach her.

“Militsa,” she gasped, returning her girlfriend’s eager embrace. “What are you doing here?” She cast a glance at Skulduggery, who was pointedly ignoring the encounter. _That sneaky bastard_, she thought to herself.

“Val, sweetheart, I’ve missed you,” Militsa chimed. “You haven’t visited in so long!”

“I was with you just last weekend,” Valkyrie responded, pulling away to frown at her.

“That was a whole _week_ ago.”

Valkyrie grinned. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Good thing you love me,” Militsa responded with a wink. Valkyrie rolled her eyes.

“Care to join me for a sundae?”

“I’d love to.”

They ordered, then sat at Valkyrie’s table. Small talk between the couple came easily, and Skulduggery even pitched in a few words himself. Their sundaes arrived in record time, and they enjoyed the sweet treats in their own private world even as people hustled around them.

Valkyrie came to realise just how important relaxing was. She enjoyed the warmth washing over her as she smiled at her girlfriend, and a sudden appreciation for the Scottish Necromancer followed another tumble of that delicious ocean she found herself swimming through.

Valkyrie smirked at her lap, and decided to play a game. “Tell me again, Militsa, why you’re here. I don’t believe I heard your answer when I first asked.”

“Oh, uh…” she relished in that gorgeous blush taking over Militsa’s face, and didn’t fail to see her glance upwards at Skulduggery.

She didn’t let Militsa finish, however, and sprung forward for a kiss. “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you came,” she whispered against her lips. “Because, hey – I’ve missed you too.”

Militsa grinned, the rosy of her cheeks spreading down her neck as she leaned back. Her being flustered was absolutely adorable.

“Right, well…” Militsa stood suddenly. “I’m- I’ll be back.” She beelined for the toilet, casting a final, loving look in Valkyrie’s direction.

Once her girlfriend was out of the way, Valkyrie reached up and punched Skulduggery’s shoulder.

“And what the devil was that for?” he asked, a fake innocence masking his voice as he massaged the joint.

“You know what,” she responded with a huff. She looked up at him sincerely. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. You’re very pleasing to watch socialise.”

“Not sure whether to take that as a compliment, or find it creepy.”

“Whatever suits you. I don’t really mind.”

“Okay. Creep.”

Skulduggery chuckled, and she smirked as she disposed of the empty sundae containers. Militsa returned a moment later, smiling brightly and no longer flustered.

“So,” she said quietly as she returned to her seat, “what’s new with your case?”

“Not much,” Skulduggery responded before Valkyrie could say a word. “Another body showed up, is all.”

“Oh, damn,” Militsa winced. “Poor soul.”

“She was different from the others though,” Valkyrie added.

“How so?”

“She was more bruised and beaten.”

Militsa raised a brow. “She put up a fight, then.”

“Possibly,” Skulduggery intervened. “We’re unsure.”

“Oh?”

“We found the body about an hour ago,” Valkyrie explained. “We’re still waiting on a coroner to determine time and cause of death.”

“Still need identification too,” Skulduggery added. Militsa gave him an odd look.

“She didn’t have any form of identification on her?” she asked.

“None. No driver’s licence, no passport, no money or jewellery.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Zilch.”

“Damn.”

“We’re dealing with a high-profile murderer here,” Valkyrie muttered. “Why would they make such things easy for us?”

“Spoken from the heart, Valkyrie,” Skulduggery answered.

“So, anything else new?” Militsa asked. Valkyrie went to answer, but Skulduggery cut her off.

“Not really, no. Which makes everything quite difficult for us. We’re waiting on leads that refuse to appear.”

Valkyrie smiled at Skulduggery in confusion. “Well, we did encounter- “

“Temper, that’s right.” Militsa raised a brow, and Valkyrie sighed. “Temper works with us,” Skulduggery clarified, “and he suggested we- “

“If there’s information you don’t wish to tell me, just let me know instead of making shit up, Skulduggery.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Skulduggery sat the stillest he had in ages, staring at Militsa in surprise. Valkyrie smirked at him, and quirked an expectant brow as she glanced at her girlfriend.

“Don’t take this personally, Militsa,” Skulduggery answered after a moment; “but there is a lot about this case Valkyrie and I cannot, or simply will not, share with you.”

Valkyrie frowned at him. “Who are you to determine what information I give my girlfriend?”

“Your partner, who is taking a stand to say that this case is confidential.”

“He’s technically right, Valkyrie,” Militsa interrupted with a shrug and friendly smile. “I was lucky to pry this far already, so I won’t push my luck. Just keep me informed on the victim count, and let me know if there’s any way I can help, and my curiosity will remain satisfied.”

“That,” Skulduggery said as he stood, “is something I can do.”

Valkyrie followed him. “You need a lift home, Mili?” She glanced at Skulduggery, before adding: “you can sleep over if you like.”

“Thank you for clearing that with me before inviting a guest to my house, Valkyrie,” Skulduggery muttered, sarcasm raw.

Militsa grinned. “Just to spite you, Skulduggery, I accept that offer.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Just no mischief between you two.”

Valkyrie and Militsa laughed heartily as they followed him to the Bentley.

******************************************************************************************************************************************

Valkyrie was failing miserably to suppress laughter as Militsa took another item from Skulduggery’s wardrobe. Her girlfriend placed the hat on her head with exaggerated poshness, and posed.

“How do I look?” she asked, her voice a terrible imitation of Skulduggery’s smooth tone.

Valkyrie giggled as she took in the sight before her. Skulduggery’s clothes were much too long for Militsa’s body, and they hung off her hilariously as if she were an undersized mannequin.

“You look adorable!” Valkyrie answered.

Militsa cocked her head, and Valkyrie cackled at the resemblance. “Adorable?” Militsa asked, still mocking Skulduggery? “That’s a new one from you, Valkyrie.”

“Charming,” a voice deadpanned from the doorway, and Valkyrie howled with laughter as Skulduggery waltzed in. “Not only did you invite your own guest into my _home_, you let her raid my _wardrobe_.”

Valkyrie didn’t answer, instead simply wiped tears of laughter from her eyes as Militsa struggled to remove the items of clothing whilst doubled over from the pain of laughing so hard. Skulduggery swiped back his clothes, and hung them up, before straightening his tie. “We have a meeting with China later this afternoon,” he told her. Valkyrie nodded, and stood.

“Ooh, a meeting with Supreme Mage Sorrows? Sounds important,” Militsa said with a giggle as she hugged Valkyrie tightly. “Let me in on the det’s when it’s over, yeah?” she whispered.

“Sure,” Valkyrie whispered back.

“I heard that,” Skulduggery said loudly. “Valkyrie, don’t you dare leak confidential information.”

“Awwww,” she pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Militsa laughed as she pulled away. “I’d best be off. Make sure you visit soon, otherwise I’ll- I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Valkyrie dared.

“I’ll be sad, is what!”

“Nawww, man, that’s the worst thing you could say,” Valkyrie faked defeat. “Alright, I’ll visit.” She stole a quick peck from Militsa’s lips. “I promise.”

“Good,” Militsa murmured in response, smiling. “See you then.”

Valkyrie walked her girlfriend to the door, and waved as she descended the stairs. The morning sun was just slightly dipping into midday, and she had to squint to see two figures moving towards the house.

“Militsa? What are you doing here?” one of them, the girl, exclaimed in exasperation.

“I- visiting someone. Ali, what’s wrong?”

“Is Arbiter Pleasant home?” the guy asked

“How did you find his address?” Militsa asked in shock.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ali responded. “We need to talk to him.”

The two of them glanced up at Valkyrie, and she felt a certain coldness seep into her.

Necromancers. More Necromancers.

“Arbiter Cain!” the guy yelled, running to her. “We have information for you and- “

“What is this racket on my doorstep?” Skulduggery’s voice boomed from inside. The guy froze, and turned to see Skulduggery standing there, revolver pointed at his head.

“Skulduggery- “

“You didn’t invite _more_ Necromancers to my home, did you Valkyrie?”

“No sir, she didn’t,” Ali interrupted. Skulduggery tilted his head at her. “We have information. Regarding your case.”

“No one knows anything about this case, except myself, Valkyrie and Supreme Mage Sorrows,” he said darkly. “So who leaked information to you?”

“You’re mistaken, sir,” Ali tried. “It’s not _directly_ about your case, it’s- “

“Then I’m not interested. Leave.”

“We know the whereabouts of Erskine Ravel!”

Skulduggery physically froze, and Valkyrie felt her heart pound as his dark mood turned sour.

“You dare arrive on my doorstep, uttering his name?”

“It’s true, sir!” Ali backed. “Please, let us explain.”

Valkyrie rested a hand on Skulduggery’s shoulder. “If they have information, we may as well listen,” she said gently.

“What if they’re baiting us?” he asked, his voice a whisper only she could here.

She shrugged. “Best to cross this off our list of possibilities, huh?”

Skulduggery straightened himself out after a pause, and opened the door wider to invite the Necromancers inside. “I hate when you use my words against me,” he muttered.

“Think rationally in the future, and I won’t.”

Militsa came up the stairs, but Skulduggery halted her with a hand.

“I know,” she said hurriedly. “I just wanted to let you know that Lucifer and Ali are friends of mine. They wouldn’t sabotage your case in any way. I think it best you take them seriously.”

Valkyrie nodded, and Skulduggery did too after another hesitation. Militsa smiled slightly, then left, and the Arbiters followed their leads inside.

Lucifer and Ali were sat anxiously on the couch. Ali seemed quite jittery, Lucifer much calmer. They both donned full-body suits – Ali’s a deep blue, Lucifer’s red. Protective, if Valkyrie’s experience was anything to go by.

Skulduggery sat on the sofa opposite them, and made a vague motion with his hand. “Talk.”

As if a dam had burst, Ali and Lucifer started blurting information at them. Valkyrie and Skulduggery exchanged an exhausted glance, before Skulduggery called for silence over the noise.

“In all that, I heard ‘Solomon Wreath’, ‘Erskine Ravel’ and ‘deal’. Can we start from the beginning?” he asked.

Both Necromancers paused, then Lucifer took the lead.

“Ali and I have been Necromancers most of our lives, and- “

“I didn’t mean the beginning of your _lives_.”

Lucifer glowered. “Let me explain everything.” He shifted uncomfortably. “We, along with about fifty fellow Necromancers, recently graduated the highest Necromancy… I guess you could say class. Graduating this class meant we showed fulfilled devotion to Necromantic beliefs, and behold a strong level of Necromancy within our person. For this reason, our entire class was selected for Ravel’s task.”

“Did Ravel select the class?”

Lucifer looked at Ali, who seemed ready to burst.

“Solomon Wreath is alive!” she squeaked. “He selected us. I know it sounds ridiculous, because he died years ago in battle, but you have to understand that- “

“We know,” Skulduggery said with a sigh.

“Yeah, but- “

“We know he’s alive, Ali,” Valkyrie interrupted. Ali blinked at her, then at Lucifer, then back at her.

“Oh.”

“What about Solomon Wreath, Ali? Why did he select you all? What’s in it for him?”

“He- he’s made a deal with Erskine Ravel.”

“A deal?” Skulduggery leaned in, fingers drumming. “What sort of deal?”

“See, we don’t know sir!”

“What do you mean, you _don’t know_?”

“Ravel never let him tell us,” Lucifer intervened. “All Wreath was allowed to say was that it would benefit us.”

“Us, being Necromancers?” Valkyrie asked.

“Yes.”

Valkyrie turned to Skulduggery. “And what does Wreath have to do to earn this benefit?”

“He was collecting magic for Ravel.”

“What for?” Skulduggery asked suddenly. Lucifer hesitated.

“For… for his new portal,” he whispered. Skulduggery leapt to his feet.

“Bullshit.”

“Skulduggery!” Valkyrie exclaimed.

“Ravel has made a portal. To where – the Leibniz Universe?”

“Yes sir,” Ali responded, voice wavering. “It sounds ridiculous, I know, but- “

“Ridiculous is the understatement of the year.” Valkyrie glared at Skulduggery, until he sighed and sat back down, rubbing his forehead. “Fine. Why does he need access to the Leibniz Universe?”

“He has prisoners, sir,” Lucifer answered, swallowing thickly.

Valkyrie felt Skulduggery tense. “Prisoners?” he asked quietly. The air in the room thickened with Skulduggery’s curiosity and frustration. A certain hesitance lingered among everyone in the room, a nervous energy collectively jumping along nerves as Skulduggery awaited an answer.

“Yes sir. He- uh…”

Skulduggery knelt on the floor in front of Lucifer, up in his face.

“Well, isn’t this the most dramatic interrogation I’ve every partook in,” Valkyrie muttered.

“Who are his prisoners?” Skulduggery asked. Valkyrie recognised his urgent tone, and shut her mouth tight. Lucifer seemed so hesitant, before he whispered something Valkyrie didn’t hear.

Skulduggery heard it however, and he simply paused, before standing abruptly. He paced the living room as everyone fell into an uneasy silence. “Are you sure?” Skulduggery asked quietly, addressing Lucifer again. “You saw them, with your own eyes?”

“Our task was to return them to their cells, back in his tower.”

“Tower?”

“He said he’d shunted it, or something,” Ali piped up. She fidgeted nervously. “I didn’t really hear – he was talking to Wreath, not me. But the tower itself was really tall, and really prison-like. It also apparently dampens all magic inside. Or, that’s what I heard.”

“Where is Ravel’s portal?” Valkyrie asked, changing the topic. Both Necromancers screwed up their faces.

“We don’t know,” Lucifer muttered.

“You went through the portal, but you don’t know where it is?” Neither of them said anything so Valkyrie pressed on. “Is it here, in Ireland?”

“Yes,” Ali said quietly. “We didn’t travel overseas, so it must be.”

“Did Ravel let slip how far away from the Sanctuary it is?”

“No, but- “

Lucifer paused his answer, and licked his lips. Valkyrie took this second of hesitation to glance up at Skulduggery, who was still pacing. “There was an oasis, in the universe, and he said- he said the other portal… the portal at the Sanctuary was a hundred miles away from the oasis.”

Valkyrie nodded. “And how far away from the oasis is Ravel’s portal?”

“I’d say – less than ten miles.”

“Alright.” Valkyrie turned to Skulduggery. “Any other questions for them?”

He shook his head. Valkyrie nodded again, and stood.

“Thank you for your time.” She led them to the door. “Your information is quite important for our case.

“We know,” Ali said softly. “I wish we’d told you about Ravel sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” Valkyrie asked, frowning.

“The reward was promised to be worth the struggle, but…”

Ali bit her lip, and looked to Lucifer, who sighed.

“It isn’t worth keeping such important people locked away,” he finished. “We figured you two deserved to know who was there.”

“Valkyrie,” Ali said suddenly, grabbing her arm. “Could you… could you help us? It’s just…” Ali broke off again, eyes darting around. “I’m scared Wreath or Ravel will come after us, for revenge, if they find out we snitched.”

“Don’t worry,” Valkyrie reassured with a smile. “Skulduggery and I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, it’s not that simple.” Lucifer walked back up the stairs to stand next to Valkyrie. “We disappeared during the task, right from under their noses.”

“Will they really notice, when you said fifty or so of you were in attendance?”

“We were broken into groups. Out of everyone, Wreath chose us two to go with him and Ravel. We left as soon as we identified his prisoners.”

Valkyrie nodded in thought. “Well, Skulduggery and I will see what arrangements can be made for the both of you.”

Ali smiled gratefully. “Thank you!”

Lucifer smiled too, small and reserved. They both lent small waves, before leaving.

“Oh, uh, before you go.”

Lucifer looked back.

Valkyrie shrugged against the cold as she asked the question gnawing at her mind.

“Could you repeat who the prisoners are? I didn’t hear you the first time.”

Lucifer visibly paled, and nodded. He looked around himself, before saying quietly:

“The Dead Men.”

Valkyrie felt the world pause around her, even as Lucifer turned away and kept walking.

She sprinted back inside. She had to stop Skulduggery before he did something stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nawww, don't we all love dat fluffiness <3 <3 Oh, and the detectiveness, that's cool too :P
> 
> Looks like Chapter 14's up here today too :D 
> 
> I'm gonna add some more tags now too by the way. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and stay tuned!~


	15. Please, Gist get us outta here!

_A familiar anger bubbled inside Anton’s chest as he leered at Ravel. It was dangerous, enticingly so, and if it weren’t for the underuse of his Gist the past ten years, he’d let it tear the traitor apart._

_“What was it you said about having the advantage, Wreath?” he asked through gritted teeth, never tearing his eyes from Ravel’s._

_There was a moment of silence, then Ravel snarled, before leaping forward at Dexter, who was closest. Anton dived in with a bruising elbow that cracked against Ravel’s jaw. Dexter lent a punch to Ravel’s gut, which didn’t provoke a reaction. They rained elbows and fists onto their former teammate, most of which were ignored. Anton ducked under a wild swing, which caught Dexter in the chest._

_“Their clothes are protective!” Saracen called from where he was fending off Wreath. “Aim for the head!”_

_Ravel took advantage of the distraction, and slugged Dexter right across the cheek, knocking the damaged blonde onto a nearby rock. He stumbled away, before collapsing. Anton grasped Ravel’s wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back. Ravel cried out in pain, teeth gritting as he tore out of the hold, slamming a hand into Anton’s back. Anton stumbled, and lashed out a backward kick which had Ravel on the ground. He spun and landed on top of him, and pinned him easily, his hands snaking around his throat as a burning hatred crept through him. Spittle flew from Ravel’s mouth as those dangerous gold eyes glared him down._

_A sudden, sharp pain erupted in Anton’s chest, and he gasped in shock as he rolled away. Ravel sat up, glaring at him still, and the pain increased tenfold. Anton yelled and writhed, but it continued. It burned through his chest, before starting to buzz along his arms and up his neck. He screamed in agony. This was a pain he remembered from long ago – from the war._

_It stopped as abruptly as it started, and he looked through his teary eyelashes to see Ghastly pounding Ravel’s face with punches. Ravel raised his arms in defence after a moment of being dazed, and switched their positions. Ghastly’s eyes widened in shock, but that shock soon became pain as he grunted, before yelping, and soon he was screaming and writhing under Ravel, the same as Anton had._

_Anton stood and made his way over, but Ravel spun and tackled him, grasping at something in his waistband. A loud gunshot rang out, and Anton collapsed as a different yet familiar searing pain flared in his already injured shoulder. He panted as an unbound rage took over. It clawed at his chest, begging to be released, pleading to destroy his agitators. Another gunshot rang out, before he heard the click of an empty barrel, and Ravel’s swearing as he wrestled Ghastly._

_He looked over to see Wreath lying unconscious under Saracen, Hopeless and Dexter, who was stumbling from an obvious concussion. The three came to Ghastly’s aid as Anton stood once more, and the four of them soon had Ravel pinned. Anton pulled away as he felt that pain again, and Hopeless looked at him in confusion._

_“What?” he barked. “Anton, what is it?”_

_“He’s… it hurts.”_

_“What hurts?” Saracen’s eyes were wide with worry. “Anton?”_

_“I…” Anton stumbled away, out of Ravel’s line of sight, and the pain slowly descended from his neck to his chest again, before fading completely. “I recognise it. The pain. It’s not…”_

_He looked back at Ravel, who was now snarling at Dexter, whose arm was against his throat. Dexter gasped, and backed off, and for some reason that’s all it took for it to click._

_“It’s Serpine’s power!” he bellowed, looking around himself for the fucker. There was no way he was here. No way was he alive._

_Anton marched back to Ravel, who scowled at him. He took a good look into his eyes, and saw it. A certain glint there detailed his powerful addition. A dangerous sparkle gave Ravel away._

_“There,” Anton pointed. “You see it?” Ghastly came and crouched next to him, before wincing in obvious pain as Ravel fixed him with that damaging glare._

_“I see it,” he and Hopeless grunted at the same time. Hopeless stood, and Anton watched him focus before a bright, red light glowed in his hands. He held this light directly above Ravel’s face, and Ravel looked up at it just as a drop of red sweat rolled off Hopeless’s palm into one of his eyes. Ravel wailed and tried to cover it with his hand, but the Dead Men had him pinned for good._

_Anton turned, and was about to duck under Wreath’s fist when a blur crashed into the Necromancer, taking him down. Wreath rolled on top of Larrikin, easily holding him down with a single hand at his throat. Anton intervened as Larrikin clawed at Wreath’s eyes, making the man cry out and release him just as Anton elbowed Wreath in the jaw, hard. Wreath rolled away, a hand at his chin as he slowly stood. Larrikin stayed on the ground as Anton levelled himself with the Necromancer. Wreath screamed in pain as a sudden, bright light directed at his face sent him reeling. Anton smirked as Hopeless stepped up beside him, and watched him contort the sunfire to his will._

_Hopeless’s power stopped suddenly, and his hands dropped to his sides._

_“Hopeless?” Anton looked at him in confusion, but Hopeless didn’t respond. He simply paled._

_“There are more of them,” he whispered. “We have to move.”_

_Wreath snarled and charged, and attempted a swing at Hopeless, but the druid lazily ducked, before stepping forward and returning the punch with force, knocking the Necromancer over easily._

_“He’s a weakling without that cane of his,” Anton muttered._

_“Guys,” called a raspy voice from the ground. They turned to see Larrikin pointing towards the hill, where a large group of twenty or so Necromancers stood. Anton’s blood boiled at the sight._

_“We have to go. Now,” Ghastly said loudly. He stood, leaving Ravel on the ground. He walked over and lifted Larrikin into his arms, before turning downstream._

_Everyone nodded and retreated from their damaged enemies. Anton’s bubbling rage disagreed, unsated by leaving them alive, but he could do nothing. He glanced up to the group of Necromancers as he started walking. There were now around thirty – possibly more – standing there._

_Then, all at once, a shadow swerved around them, and they disappeared._

_“Run!” Hopeless bellowed. Anton broke into a sprint, breathing deeply as he ran. He saw Saracen to his left, frequently glancing back, and Ghastly behind him to his right, the weight of Larrikin slowing him slightly. Anton chanced another look behind him, in time to watch the Necromancers disappear again, this time with Ravel and Wreath._

_“This way!” Dexter yelled. He’d taken Hopeless’s lead, and he turned around a mob of palm trees. Anton stumbled on his way past, but continued. They bolted down the hill that was there, still following the lake_

_“No,” Hopeless halted, and everyone followed suit. “They’re in front of us. Double back!”_

_They didn’t have the chance. Shadows swerved all around them, as Necromancer after Necromancer appeared. It took less than ten seconds to surround them. There were gasps of shock, and laughs of thrill as the Dead Men looked around at their captors._

_“Well then,” Ravel cooed, walking into sight. His face was bloodied and bruised, and he kept his injured eye closed. “This wasn’t how I planned everything, but any result will have to do, hm?”_

_“How about no result?” Dexter asked, though there was no humour in his tone, only exhaustion._

_“That would be disappointing, wouldn’t it?” Ravel smirked at him, and his open eye twinkled treacherously. Anton noted Ghastly stepping up beside him, Larrikin no longer in his arms._

_“I’ll make this easy for you,” Ravel continued. “Turn yourselves in, and no one gets hurt. Well, hurt further, anyway.” He locked eyes with Anton. “Or, you can continue to fight, and risk not getting out alive. You’ve already lost, after all.” He motioned around them. “You’re surrounded, so- “_

_“Nice review, captain obvious,” Ghastly interrupted, sarcasm raw. “But I think we all know we aren’t giving in so easily.” Ravel stared at them in shock, before turning irritably to communicate with a few nagging Necromancers. Ghastly lowered his voice. “Anton, you may have to- “_

_“I can’t,” he responded lowly. He dropped his gaze. “I wouldn’t be capable of control after so long, Ghastly. I simply can’t.”_

_“You might have to, though,” Hopeless cut in, glaring at the dark mob ahead of them. “There’s too many for me to handle.” He turned to Ghastly. “What’s with all the death, anyway?”_

_“You can just _tell_ that people have died?” Anton asked, brow furrowed._

_“Yes.”_

_“We aren’t at home,” Dexter said quietly._

_“What do you mean?” Hopeless asked, confused._

_“We’re in a different universe. The Leibniz Universe. We must be.”_

_“Oh,” Saracen breathed. “Dex, are you sure?”_

_“We _must_ be.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Hopeless looked at Dexter incredulously. Anton felt that confusion all over. “A different _universe_?”_

_“We’ll explain later,” Saracen said hastily. “We need to get out of here first.”_

_Anton looked up as he nodded, to see Ravel cocking his head at them._

_“Done congregating, gentlemen?” Ravel asked coolly._

_“Hopeless, how many could you possibly handle with their power this strong?” Ghastly asked, ignoring Ravel’s interruption._

_“Pfft, maybe five or six.” Hopeless sighed. “I’m out of practice. I could perhaps damage a few of them, but that’s about all.”_

_There was a moment of silence, and Anton shortly noticed all eyes were on him. His heart pounded at the insinuation, and the demon in his chest chuckled in excitement at the idea._

_“I really can’t,” he muttered._

_“Well, has anyone else got any ideas then?” Saracen asked. Everyone’s heads shook._

_“Look, I know it might be difficult,” Dexter said, eyes on Anton. “But without your help we won’t make it out of here.”_

_“He’s right,” Hopeless butted in. “It’s this, or nothing.”_

_Anton’s blood churned, and his hands shook. He looked over at Ravel, who smirked back at him, and glared. That smile needed to be wiped away, and the anger in Anton’s chest suggested it happen in a flash of violence, pain and blood._

_But, with the anger and frustration and will to destroy, there was a lingering feeling of weakness that Anton couldn’t shake. It sent doubt after doubt through his mind. His control could be compromised after so much time. He could attack the people he was trying to protect._

_“Anton?”_

_He looked up into Ghastly’s questioning eyes. He looked exhausted, as if he were ready to give in, as if he’d run out of choices. He seemed lost in an unexplainable way, like there was nothing else they could do._

_That was just it, wasn’t it? There _wasn’t _anything else to do, so Anton swallowed, and nodded._

_“Alright,” he said quietly, earning grateful, fatigued smiles from everyone. “But only as a last resort.”_

_“Agreed,” Saracen replied._

_“Yoo-hoo, you guys finished your gossip session?” Ravel called. Some of the Necromancers snickered._

_“How about some patience,” Anton answered coldly._

_“How about you either fight, or we drag you back to your cells.” It was Wreath who said this, and it earned a few more laughs from the surrounding darkness._

_“Why haven’t you done so already, if you’re so short of time?”_

_“It’s more fun making you lot decide.”_

_“Fine,” Hopeless said through gritted teeth, turning to face Ravel properly. He glanced back at everyone else, and Anton nodded along with them. “Have it your way.”_

_A large eruption of light had the Necromancers squealing all around, as the Dead Men shielded their eyes. The sudden uproar of chaos gave Hopeless enough time to formulate a shield around them, but within seconds of its completion shadows began bashing the sides, even as Anton watched Hopeless pour all his strength into keeping it alive. Keeping _them_ alive._

_More bright, white flashes bounced around the dark crowd, and Anton watched as some Necromancers swept their shadows around them, and disappeared from sight. His inner demon was grinning, but he wiped the smile from its face when he spotted a tear in Hopeless’s shield._

_Then another._

_“I can’t hold it and fight at the same time!” Hopeless yelled over the chaos. “There’s- I’m too weak!”_

_“Keep it up as long as you can!” Ghastly shouted back gruffly. The few tears were large enough that a few exhausted Necromancers crept through, eager to engage in close combat. Ghastly’s strong punches had a few on the ground within seconds, and Anton assisted with flying fists and elbows of his own. He flipped a blonde bastard to the ground, feeling a deep guttural satisfaction at the crunching sound, even as his shoulder screamed in agony._

_He assisted Dexter with one particularly vulgar lady desperately trying and failing to swing punches at him, yet masterfully side-stepping every attack. He swooped low, feigned a punch to the jaw that she tried to block, before diving around her middle and knocking her flat. Dexter moved to her face, and lent a kick that had her out._

_There was a loud, piercing scream that broke out within the shield, and Anton swivelled around in time to see Larrikin thrashing in distress. He spotted Ravel standing near the entrance of the largest tear, with shadows wrapped protectively around him. There was no way to fight him, so Anton dashed forward._

_He was so close to dragging Larrikin out of Ravel’s sight, when a shadow suddenly pierced his lower abdomen. He roared in pain, twisting away from it, even as it wrapped around him and dragged him away. Anton glanced around at everyone else as he stood, wincing in pain, in time to see Hopeless spot Larrikin’s torture._

_The druid’s eyes opened wide, and Anton watched as his features contorted from concentrated to horrified in milliseconds. The shield around them suddenly depleted completely, and Anton ducked under the determined darkness swarming overhead as Hopeless rushed to Larrikin’s aid. Anton felt a sudden wrath erupt inside him – so familiar and welcome in his chest as it heated him – that he knew he’d had enough._

_“Anton!” He registered Ghastly sprinting towards him. “Now!”_

_He closed his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath, before releasing it. And along his gust of air, his anger danced and twirled, pleased of its release, in the form of his Gist._

_It burst violently from his chest, clawing its way through the shadows. Anton suddenly felt distant – as if he were a passenger in his own body – as the Gist tore through its first victim, a head flying high into the air._

_Shrieks of terror guided his angry self-image, tearing apart the most terrified of Necromancers first. It was unharmed by the Necromancy, and went straight through shadows to attack. He hardly registered most of the Necromancers disappearing in a swipe of shadows, but his Gist hollered as it lost many possible kills. People retreated behind him, though none dared get near. His Gist attempted to follow, swerving right past his physical form, before swooping back, apparently unable to reach. An error after the ten years of underuse, undoubtedly._

_It leapt forward, in search of the most hateable person in the area. Anton spotted Ravel a moment before his Gist, but the bastard shielded himself behind him, aware of the Gist’s malfunction. Unable to reach its preferred target, the Gist screeched, before returning to the centre of the crowd. It tore through torsos, and tangled amongst the hair of heads it brutally ripped apart. Necromancers from behind attempted to ambush Anton’s physical body, but the Gist pounced upon them in seconds, only just reaching them, and Anton had to blink away a splatter of blood that landed in his eye._

_“Retreat!” he distantly heard a voice call. “Leave!”_

_It was Wreath, the bloody coward. His Gist screamed as it started towards him, only to be blocked by that invisible barrier, denying access to the space behind its owner. It swerved towards his voice over and over, screeching in displeasure at its incompetence. More shadowy figures loomed near Anton’s body, just out of its reach, but Dexter and Saracen were there in seconds, never letting a single dirty finger touch him._

_Unsatisfied but still detecting warm bodies, his Gist surged forward again. Blood and guts sprayed around them as though his Gist were painting a morbid picture with their bodies. Anton gritted his teeth against the drain its power placed upon him, but his attempts at direction were ignored as the bloodlust of his livid power overruled any command that wasn’t kill. His Gist swerved into a small group of Necromancers, cowardly shielding themselves behind shadows – as if they would suffice as protection – while they lashed out pathetically. The screaming monstrosity dived for them angrily, ignorant to the tangling darkness, and tore them apart, limb to limb. It then directed itself towards the last few, and a single clawed hand swiped their heads from their bodies, terrified expressions frozen in place._

_With no more targets in front of him, Anton focused on his control. He nudged the Gist’s demonic, violent thoughts from his mind. He ignored the lingering longing for devastation, and focused on reeling the angry version of himself back._

_The Gist started drawing back, its long, ghost-like form shortening as Anton took a deep breath. It clawed, attempting to grab onto something, anything to remain outside his chest. Anton glared at his livid, grey reflection as it pulled back, before abruptly lengthening again._

_And suddenly, Anton felt more distant from his physical form than ever before._

_His knees buckled, and his mind fogged from both pain and overbearing rage his Gist was worming into his brain as it slowly grew out more. He was losing control. The Gist was going to take over._

_A sudden, sharper pain erupted in his shoulder, making himself and the Gist snarl in unison, and he was about to weakly shove it off when he realised it was only Ghastly, holding him up. He turned to see Saracen now holding his other shoulder, and remembered why he was here._

_He had to be stronger. For them._

_Anton heaved another breath, even as his Gist set to destroying the palm trees in front of it, splintered wood littering all over them. He gritted his teeth as he forcefully shoved those dark, dangerous thoughts from his head, and focused on the task at hand._

_He was Anton Shudder. His Gist would not take that away._

_The Gist shrieked as it became aware of Anton’s growing control, and Anton watched with satisfaction as it drew back slowly. Soon, only the head and hands remained in the open, and those black eyes turned to look at him, a mixture of rage and fear staring at him._

_“Not today,” Anton said through gritted teeth, and he dragged that fucker back, until all that remained were clawing hands, unable to grasp at anything but air._

_And then they disappeared, and Anton was truly himself again._

_Ghastly and Saracen let him stumble backwards as a sudden exhaustion washed over him, uttering praise he didn’t need to hear. He looked around himself, at the blood and bodies scattered around. Trees lay in splintered log ruins, with leaves strewn lazily over the top. He directed his gaze down to Hopeless on the ground, who was kneeling over Larrikin. Dexter sat close by, a hand held to his forehead, nursing his fading concussion._

_Anton grimaced as the pains in his shoulder and stomach intensified. He sat down with everyone else. There were no words to be said, and the only sound for some time was panting, which Anton realised was mostly coming from him._

_“Well, that was something,” Dexter said with a single, fatigued chuckle._

_There were grunts and nods around the group. Another few minutes of silence followed, before Hopeless looked up from tending to Larrikin._

_“Who’s next?” he asked gruffly. He turned to Dexter. “How’s your head?”_

_“Fine.” Hopeless examined him anyways, but nodded, apparently satisfied._

_“Hopeless, if you wouldn’t mind,” Anton muttered, removing his hand from his side._

_“Jesus, Anton. Lay down.”_

_He didn’t pay any attention to Hopeless as he worked. He didn’t offer anything more than a few winces as his wound was cleaned with lake water._

_“We have to move before it gets dark,” Saracen said quietly. Anton barked a disbelieving laugh and ignored Hopeless’s disapproving grunt._

_“Now?” he asked incredulously. “We’ve just been bullied by a cowardly Necromancer and goddamn _Ravel_, chased half a mile after beating them up, and fought by even _more_ Necromancers. And, if this wasn’t bad enough for you Saracen, some of us were starved and cruelly treated for long periods of time before this, and would appreciate a break from this bloody madness!”_

_There was silence, in which Anton rubbed his throbbing temple, his temper dissipating. “Sorry, shouldn’t snap,” he muttered._

_“He is right though,” Ghastly said after a moment. “We need to be gone before morning; in case they return for round two.”_

_Anton winced as Hopeless secured a bandage – where the heck did he find that? – around his torso, despite the glowing hand decreasing the pain slightly. He sighed and nodded, as Hopeless’s careful hands moved to treat his shoulder. “Alright. When d’you want to leave?”_

_“As soon as you’re patched up.”_

_“We’re not resting for a while first?” Dexter asked, frowning. “The sun’s not even halfway set, you know. Not sure if we need to be in such a hurry.”_

_“We’ll move first,” Saracen piped up. “Then we’ll set up camp, and you can catch your beauty sleep in the daylight.” Dexter snorted at the remark, but made no further protests. Saracen hesitated for a moment. “Where will we go, though? Following the oasis is predictable, but nowhere else has food stores.”_

_“We should eat now,” Ghastly answered after a pause. “Eat now, and take whatever food we can with us.” Anton and Ghastly locked eyes as Saracen stood. “So, Dexter, what was it you said about this Leibniz Universe?”_

_“Oh, right!” Dexter sat upright suddenly, posture improved from his usual slouch. He narrowed his eyes at Ghastly and Anton, and asked, “You two knew of Darquesse, right?” Anton grunted as he remembered the young lady in black. Exquisite, but deadly. “Okay, well. After the war of the Sanctuaries, Darquesse basically took over. Wait, I need to back-track.” He fixed Anton and Ghastly another look. “You two remember Skulduggery killed Serpine with the Sceptre of the Ancients, yes?”_

_“Only after Serpine had killed most of the Sanctuary officials, yeah,” Anton grunted._

_“Okay, well, to confuse you all more, let’s change the story again.” Anton seriously doubted Dexter’s story-telling abilities. “So, when- “_

_“Is this the universe Valkyrie and that shunter Silas Nadir discovered, all those years ago?” Ghastly asked. Anton blinked at him in confusion._

_“Yes,” Dexter responded. “I’m surprised you remember it.”_

_“Oh, Christ.” Ghastly paled. “You’re aware Mevolent’s alive in this Universe, aren’t you Dexter?”_

_“Yes but- “ _

_Anton watched the realisation seep into the blonde’s face, and felt his own stomach drop._

_“Shit.”_

_“Yeah.” Ghastly’s eyes darted around their surroundings. “Any idea how to get out of here?”_

_“Not a clue.”_

_“Well then.” Ghastly sighed, and made a vague gesture. “So, what about the Sceptre?”_

_Dexter shrugged, them grimaced. “Nothing, really. I just realised how unimportant it is to our predicament. Apart from the fact it got left here at some point. But Valkyrie recovered it, I think. It got literally thrown off the planet by Darquesse in our Universe, so…”_

_“Who’s Valkyrie?” Hopeless asked, bandaging Anton’s shoulder carefully. Saracen, who’d been collecting berries for them, dropped a large handful into Anton’s hands. He nodded gratefully, and started eating the sweet fruits, letting Hopeless nick a couple as he worked._

_“Skulduggery’s partner,” Ghastly answered smoothly._

_Hopeless scoffed above him, and Anton looked up to see him pulling a face. “Skulduggery has a _girlfriend?_”_

_“He means work partner,” Dexter interrupted._

_“Sure, sure. So, who’s Darquesse, then?”_

_“Valkyrie’s true name.”_

_Hopeless whistled as he took a seat across from Anton. “Shiiiiiit. Must’ve been interesting to fight. Would love to hear that story some time.”_

_“I’d be glad to tell it.”_

_“Yeah, no. Not from you Dexter. You suck at story telling.” Dexter raised a hand, mocking offense as he chewed his berries._

_“Rude.”_

_A light chuckle bounced around them as they slowly ate._

_“None of that explains how or why we’re here though,” Hopeless said lowly. “Surely a gateway to a parallel universe wouldn’t remain open for long.”_

_“Are we trapped here?” Anton asked, disgusted and slightly mortified by the idea._

_“Heavens, no,” Saracen reassured. “The portal, from what I know, opens every month, for around a week.”_

_“And when was the last time it opened?”_

_“Almost a month ago.”_

_“So,” Anton stood and rolled his shoulder as he spoke, and passed Hopeless the rest of the berries. “If we find the portal within the next few days and hang around, it’ll open, and we’ll go home?”_

_“Something like that.”_

_“Where in our universe does it open?” Ghastly asked._

_“Just inside Roarhaven.” Dexter answered, also standing._

_“Yes, well, this is great and all,” Hopeless said sternly, “but we haven’t a clue which direction to travel in.”_

_“We could split up,” Dexter offered. Everyone stared at him like he was batshit crazy. In Anton’s mind, he was. “Was just an idea,” he muttered, looking to the ground._

_“Any _reasonable_ ideas?” Anton asked._

_“Well,” Saracen piped up, looking at Hopeless; “I heard there was some sort of unknown power source that was causing the portal to open.”_

_Hopeless scratched his chin in thought. “If it’s strong enough to open a portal between universes, I may be able to sense this power source once we’re close enough.”_

_“Could you try now?”_

_Hopeless shook his head. “I need to rest first. Takes a lot of energy to search for such things. Especially over a distance.”_

_Anton directed his gaze over to the horizon, where beautiful splashes of orange and pink mingled with the light blues of the sky, creating a typical beach sunset look. It was a sight to behold, yes, but it was also a stark reminder that they had to leave._

_Ghastly had seen it too, and he stood as well. “We’d best get a move on,” he said. Anton saw his face sour, and found the source to be Larrikin’s still form. “Hopeless, is he alright?”_

_There was a slight hesitation. “He’s critical. I think Ravel’s torture affected his core somehow.”_

_Anton glared at him. “You checked his core?”_

_Hopeless shrugged. “Had to make sure he’s okay. And he is. I predict he’ll be unconscious a while – he was concussed by that blow, and his dehydration is making his recovery slow. But he’ll be alright.”_

_Ghastly nodded after a moment, before leaning over and lifting Larrikin into his arms. Each of them took a long, grateful drink from the lake, smacking their lips at its cool, refreshing water. Anton helped Saracen gather a small amount of food as they walked away from the blinding sunset, away from the oasis and its green, luscious beauty. Despite hating how exposed it made him feel, Anton removed his shirt. It was torn and bloodied from his Gist, but sufficed as a makeshift bag for their food._

_They trudged for a few hours, the oasis growing smaller with each glance back as the sun dipped lower in the sky. A crescent moon slowly rose into view, a shining white light above them. Anton liked to think of the moon as a glistening hope amongst the darkness of the night sky. It sparkled beautifully as it contrasted the sour, darkened atmosphere surrounding the Dead Men._

_They puffed and panted, but refused to rest, and not too long later Anton glanced back to see the faint outlines of the tallest palm trees in the darkness. Nothing else was visible for miles around, which made Anton’s stomach churn, but he looked back ahead to the gleaming white moon in front of him, and allowed it to restore his hope._

_There was little chatter as they walked. Words were mostly used to check in, to ensure everyone was doing okay. Once or twice one of them stumbled, and was caught by another. Everyone was staggering with exhaustion, each step making their feet ache, their heads buzz from tiredness, and their injuries burn in pain._

_The silence was immensely deafening, in a strange way. It reminded Anton of the seclusion of that cell, of the loneliness and the cold. He shivered, for he was freezing now, his torso bare against the unforgiving night as they trekked forward._

_After what felt like days, their quiet journey was broken. Saracen cursed loudly as he mis-stepped and twisted his ankle._

_“Okay, I can’t take anymore,” he said to them. “_Please_, can we make camp? We must’ve walked for miles now. We should be safe until morning at least.”_

_Anton saw Ghastly look around at each of them, before nodding._

_“Alright. Everyone rest, I’ll get a fire going.”_

_Anton nodded and sat. He crossed his arms over himself as a cold breeze picked up. He glanced up to the moon overhead, and sighed. He lay back, his good arm under his head, and simply breathed the night’s frigid air, his breaths coming out as little puffs of steam._

_A fire soon crackled between them, made up of debris and whatever littered wood Ghastly had found in the area. Anton sat before it, rubbing his hands together as the smoke danced through the night sky, warming the atmosphere around them slightly._

_Everyone was still, with nothing to say for a few moments. Dexter sat next to Anton with Larrikin’s head in his lap, keeping him warm. Ghastly stood, staring into the flames with a storm brewing behind his eyes. Saracen slowly took a seat next to Dexter and ran a hand through Larrikin’s hair affectionately. Hopeless sat with them, checking over Larrikin’s injuries._

_“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” Saracen asked quietly._

_Hopeless nodded. “I’m sure.”_

_“Who’s keeping watch tonight?” Dexter asked. Silence. He smirked. “I’ll do it then.”_

_Saracen pulled a face. “Really Dex? You sure you’re up for that?”_

_“I’m sure. Rest well everyone. I’ll be here,” Dexter made some ridiculous ninja movements with his hands. “I’ll guard you.”_

_Anton rolled his eyes, before moving slightly away from the group. He lay on his back for some time, just staring at the starry sky. He counted each star he could see – all fifty-seven of them – and even identified Mars. He enjoyed astronomy. It was one of his more interesting hobbies, he liked to think._

_It took very little time for his exhaustion to seep in. Anton felt the world fade away blissfully as he welcomed sleep with open arms._

_Deep down in his chest, he felt the rumble of his unsatisfied Gist, and grimaced._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These bois have a loooong way to travel ;o Good luck Dead Men!
> 
> In case the joke of the title went over anyone's head, Gist replaced the word just. So, it really reads, 'Please, just get us outta here!'; but since Gist and just sound similar... yeah, think I explained it enough for it to no longer be funny oof ;l
> 
> Just wanna point out how dreadful I am at writing battle scenes ;l Yeah, sorry guys xD
> 
> Thanks for reading! More coming soon :D


	16. Following the Lead...s

Her heart pounding and mind racing with thoughts, Valkyrie stumbled as Skulduggery pushed past her, heading outside. She spun on her heel to talk to him.

“Skulduggery- “

“We’re going to see China. Now.”

She fast walked after him, unable to keep up with his long, determined strides.

“I thought our appointment wasn’t until this afternoon,” she said with a frown. Skulduggery ignored her comment and wrenched the door to the driver’s seat open. Valkyrie sighed and entered the passenger’s side.

The Bentley started with a roar, and Valkyrie couldn’t help thinking it reflected Skulduggery’s behaviour perfectly: strong-minded and angry, yet entertained at the idea of a journey. She was hardly surprised when he pulled out of the suburb onto the freeway and started speeding.

“Okay. Care to explain this dramatic turn of events?” she asked.

Silence. Nothing but dead, cold silence. His mood was hard to read again, yet there was that discomforted pinky, flicking itself against the steering wheel as he drove, the rest of him almost dead still. Valkyrie swore she could hear his thoughts, moulding themselves in the quiet.

The Dead Men. Alive. It was such a long stretch - a tall story, she was sure. Yet Skulduggery was hooked. She could sense more than a flicker of hope burning within him. He was completely certain they were alive, despite it being blatantly impossible.

Well. _Almost_ impossible. The recent discoveries in their case deemed it possible, albeit slimly. If Ravel was behind everything, they may be alive and trapped. The idea had never crossed Valkyrie’s mind before, yet now they had eyewitnesses that shoved it to the forefront of her mind. It was a glaring statement, one they had to determine to be true or false – and this could only be done by seeing with their own eyes.

So, yes. It was possible.

The Dead Men _could_ be alive.

The more her thoughts churned and engaged her mind, the more Valkyrie believed in the prospect. Sigils had been around since she was twelve, at least. That gave designers more than a decade to enhance them, to perfect them – and who knows how long this particular sigil has been circling? The Dead Men, whether willingly or by force, would’ve had some sort of contact with them, so what were the odds of them discovering this sigil, or being forced to use it?

Well, those odds didn’t line up. Even if they _had_ found sigils, Ravel created this one. Would he have wanted them to know about it? Or did he hide it?

No, he hadn’t hidden it – Bliss used it. Wreath used it. It was in circulation. So, the question was there: did the Dead Men disappear on their own, or did Ravel plot against them and lock them up? And, if they did leave on their own terms, has Ravel captured them?

So, yes. The Dead Men could be alive.

And they could be prisoners.

Valkyrie turned to look at Skulduggery again as she chewed her bottom lip nervously. His body was still as a statue, yet now his whole left hand was drumming on the wheel. It was such an anxious tick from him, one she’d never witnessed before this case had begun, and it had only gotten worse after Bliss and Wreath’s reappearances.

He glanced at her, almost guiltily, and that was all it took for it to click.

“You thought they were alive all along!” she gasped. That hand stopped abruptly, and the sudden stillness was enough to make Valkyrie look away for a moment. It explained the discomfort, the contemplation, the anxiety he was so obviously suffering from. He’d already determined his oldest friends were in distress.

“I said you wouldn’t take me seriously if I told you.”

His voice was dull, as if he dreaded something.

“What?” she asked sternly. “What is it?”

He looked at her again, before sighing.

“You’re not the only one who’ll think it’s a joke, is my main concern here. I doubt there are many who will believe our lead.”

She blinked slowly as he turned back to the road.

“Oh.” Valkyrie set her brain to working mode again, and thought about this. He had a point – who was going to take them seriously? China might, if she spoke to Ali and Lucifer herself. Temper possibly, though he was sure to have a laugh beforehand. But who else? Anyone? No one?

“For the record,” she said slowly. “I’ve thought it over.”

Skulduggery tensed beside her. “And?”

“I think…” She gnawed on her lip some more. “I think, if Lucifer and Ali say they saw them, we should at least investigate. Even if they happen to be mistaken, it’s our job to read into what they’ve told us.”

“They are there, Valkyrie,” he said quietly. “I know they are.”

She hesitated, then nodded. It was best for her to agree – getting him down and possibly mad was the worst thing she could do in this scenario. Skulduggery needed closure, and she was willing to give it to him.

“So, what do we tell China?” she asked. She applied a soft lilt to her voice, hoping to raise his cloudy mood.

“We tell her exactly what we’ve been told. We show her our evidence and we call in our eyewitnesses to be interviewed by her at a later date.” He turned to look at her. “You got their details, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Mili texted them to me.” A pause. “Speaking of Ali and Lucifer…”

He looked at her slowly, and read her hesitation in a heartbeat.

“They’ve asked for protection from Ravel, haven’t they?”

“Yes. Yes, they have.”

He rubbed his forehead, as if fighting off a migraine. “I’ll ask Temper and China to sort something for them.”

And… silence. It closed in on them again, suffocating the conversation. It was boiling with nerves, quaking with discomfort. It hurt too much, so Valkyrie broke it.

“Skulduggery. You know I trust you with this, don’t you?” He looked at her, as if she was crazy, so she continued. “I mean to say, I believe you. I think they’re alive.” She swallowed. “Think about it; what did Ravel say to you at the morgue, after the battle of the Sanctuaries, after you figured him out?”

Skulduggery’s hands started shaking, and Valkyrie silently cursed herself. The contemplative turn of his head seemed troubled as he concentrated. She was about to tell him never mind, to forget about it, when he finally answered.

“He apologised. Profusely, at that. He said it was…” he paused, then continued, a hint of disgust in his voice. “He said it was for one of the Children of the Spider.” That hand flickered, faster this time, a mixture of anger and hatred conducting his bony fingers as he drummed. “He was so madly in love, he felt the need to offer protection, to shield her away from us. He turned against us for a single, not even overly attractive, spider-vomiting lady, and killed two of our men for her.”

Valkyrie nodded. “Doesn’t that seem like a flimsy explanation to you?” He turned sharply, completely still again, and she almost heard his mind going crazy inside his skull. “Ravel was a lady’s man, yes, but he hated insects, didn’t he? The first thing he did when appointed as Grand Mage was have insect extermination in every area to ensure the Sanctuary was completely clear.”

“Of course,” Skulduggery said softly. “He was always jittery about bugs and creatures of the sort. Why didn’t I pick up on that?”

“That isn’t all – everyone knew he had the hots for Tanith just as much as Ghastly did. He was quietly jealous Ghastly had her pinned first.”

“He always went after blonde ladies. He always said they were more attractive.”

She nodded to him. “So, I hardly doubt he was in love with her. Black-haired, spider-puking… She seemed like a total turn-off for him.”

“It was a thinly veiled excuse that I should’ve seen through. He’s been hiding a larger plot from me for so long.”

Valkyrie frowned. “He’s meant to be dead, of course he’s hidden it.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped. “His apology was beyond forced. He wouldn’t even look at them, and when he did it wasn’t with remorse. It was with boredom, as if he hardly cared.” He looked at her sternly. “He didn’t apologise – his reflection did. The bastard couldn’t even face me himself.”

Valkyrie felt her breathing increase in speed at the thought, but forced herself to be calm as she placed a hand over Skulduggery’s trembling one on the wheel.

“We’ll stop him,” she promised. “We’ll find them.”

“They’re in a different universe, Valkyrie. It’ll be difficult.” He paused, then barked a single, humourless laugh. “I told Temper another universe was the last place I’d let this case drag me. How _ironic._”

She grimaced as they took the turn-off to Roarhaven, and didn’t say another word until they parked.

“Just- before we go in,” she said hurriedly. She looked him in the eye, and said quietly; “promise me you’ll keep your head. The last thing we need is for China to go off her rocker at us because of your temper.” Skulduggery paused, then nodded.

“I’ll do my best to stay calm,” he answered sincerely.

Valkyrie patted his hand with a smile. “That’s all I ask.”

The twisting, blank-white halls of the Sanctuary greeted them as they made their slow descent up the stairwell to the fourth floor. She almost tripped up, and scowled.

“Why don’t we ever take the elevator?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“I didn’t realise you were quite that lazy.”

Valkyrie scoffed at him. “I’m not. I simply hate stairs.”

Now, why the Sanctuary required four floors was lost to Valkyrie. It already took up a slight majority of Roarhaven, especially with its temporary holding cells. Now, though, it also towered over the city, a total of seven storeys high, with plans to build the eighth floor later this year.

Valkyrie watched Skulduggery as they walked. His pace was slower than earlier, as his sense of professionalism combatted his buzzing fury and anticipation, but his footsteps were still accentuating urgency. His left hand was no longer jittering, and she all but prayed his stillness would last

They passed through the waiting area. It was dimly lit, with no one at reception and no one in the seats lining one of the walls. The window blinds were shut, denying access to sunlight that would usually radiate around and brighten the large room. It was abnormally quiet and, albeit this being a common occurrence considering only Sanctuary staff or people working for China were ever seated here, Valkyrie couldn’t help but think the atmosphere was quite eerie.

There were several meeting rooms conjoined to the corridor Skulduggery lead her down. She looked into each open door, to see large tables with chairs placed in the centre of each room. A clock hung overhead in most of them, ticking time away as they walked, and anything else decorative was certainly the minimalistic side of professional.

This was a new area of the fourth floor for Valkyrie, as they normally conversed with China in her private chambers, and she frowned.

“We’re meeting her here?” she asked lowly.

“No. Well, yes. Sort of.”

“What do you mean, _sort of_?”

Now standing in front of a door at the end of the corridor, Skulduggery raised a hand ready to knock. He turned to her, cocked his head, and said calmly: “We’re crashing her current meeting.”

Before Valkyrie could respond, his knuckles rapped the door.

Seconds after, the door was thrown wide open, and out waltzed none other than Eliza Scorn.

Her dress was long and of a deep dark red. Her heels sparkled to match, but a closer look told Valkyrie they were clear glass with blood glistening from the inside. Eliza’s jewellery consisted of a bone necklace – human finger bones, if Valkyrie had to guess – with clacking bracelets to match. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, held together by a hairband made from veins; and her makeup (thank _God_ it wasn’t morbidly crafted) was of matching shades, her thin red lips drawn into a deep scowl.

“You’ll have no choice eventually,” she called over her shoulder into the room she’d just left, before fixing Valkyrie and Skulduggery with glares. She smirked, then shouldered past them, sweeping from the corridor with a stiff sort of grace.

“So, sue me,” Valkyrie heard a familiar voice sigh from inside. She exchanged a brow-raised look with Skulduggery, before following him inside.

China stood at the end of a long table. Valkyrie noticed immediately how quickly she’d recovered, as her skin was no longer sickly pale. Her eyes glimmered again, as bright as her blue dress and matching jewellery, and her grace was once again angelic, without the clumsiness her sickness had brought.

“Morning China,” Skulduggery chimed.

She frowned at them. “And may I ask why you’re here?” she asked, unimpressed. “Our meeting isn’t until later today.”

“We’ve got a lead,” Valkyrie said with a shrug.

China’s hands curled around the table as her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“Is it truly important enough that you felt the need to interrupt my meeting?” Valkyrie looked to Skulduggery in hesitation, and China sighed. She placed her hands on her hips, and almost condescendingly turned to Skulduggery. “You _seriously_ believe your lead is important enough to disturb my meeting, instead of waiting for your scheduled time?”

“I do,” he said calmly, though that urgent lilt never left his tone. “It is incredibly important.”

China sat with yet another sigh, and made a gesture for them to follow. They did, and Valkyrie’s butt barely met the chair before Skulduggery began spilling everything.

Their witnesses, how everything lined up with what Bliss had said, their sighting of Wreath, the… the…

Valkyrie zoned out as he talked. She knew it all already. Instead, she focused intently on China’s reactions. She almost seemed bored, until Skulduggery mentioned the Leibniz Universe, where she frowned, and her posture changed as she listened more intently.

China didn’t speak a word, not daring to interrupt the spiel, no doubt. She asked no questions, made no comments. Just sat and listened; and Valkyrie prayed this meant they were being taken seriously. The two ladies locked eyes at one point, and China’s brow furrowed as Skulduggery finished talking, his hand jittering on the table as it had in the car.

China sat back, a gentle silence folding around them as she thought.

“I want to think this is rubbish, that all you’ve told me is nonsense,” she began, and Valkyrie’s heart skipped a beat at the insinuation.

“But?” Skulduggery pressed, head cocked.

China shifted uncomfortably. “Your evidence not only lines up impeccably, but… well, I guess I received a lead as well.”

Valkyrie frowned as China withdrew something from a hidden draw at her end of the table. It was a small envelope, with a single piece of paper that she withdrew and laid on the desk in front of them.

“I was delivered this, right before Scorn got here.”

It read:

_ **You’ll be glad to know there’ll be no more “drain murders”.** _

_ **At least, for now.** _

_ **E.R.** _

Valkyrie felt her breath catch. “Those are Ravel’s initials.”

“And his handwriting,” Skulduggery added.

China nodded.

“So, no more murders,” Valkyrie said with a half-smile. “Finally, something is looking up for us.”

“No Valkyrie, it’s not,” Skulduggery said flatly. “This means he’s finished whatever he was draining and murdering for.”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh. We have an even bigger issue on our hands now, then.”

“We do.” Skulduggery folded the letter into his own pocket, before squaring an ankle over his knee. “China, I hope you understand how important your co-operation is in all this,” he said slowly. She blinked at him blankly. “What I mean to say is, we need permission to scope the Leibniz Universe out and find them.”

China frowned and massaged her temples. “On your own?”

“If we have to.”

“China,” Valkyrie said softly, “we _could_ use some help. If you could possibly lend a few Cleavers to us…”

She contemplated this for a moment. “You are aware you are Arbiters, not a rescue crew, yes?”

“Who else is going to go, then?” Skulduggery challenged. “I highly doubt anyone else would listen to what we’ve just told you, let alone _believe_ it.” There was a pause, in which Skulduggery’s urgency leaked through. “If the Dead Men _are_ in that universe, China, then _we_ are the only ones who can help them.”

His tone seemed to crack China’s defence. “Alright. I’ll allow it. On one condition.”

Skulduggery’s knuckles rapped on the table. “And that condition is…?”

“That you wait until Temper’s paperwork has been reviewed so he can escort you, since he knows his way around.”

“I know my way around just fine, China.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She paused for a moment, then she shrugged. “I’ll be point blank with you, Skulduggery: I don’t trust you – and, I’m sorry to say that includes you as well, Valkyrie, as his partner – leading my Cleavers anywhere.”

Valkyrie didn’t miss the offended flick of Skulduggery’s pointer against the table. He dropped his foot, and leaned further forward in his seat. “I’m sorry?”

“Every time my Cleavers are left in your hands, they turn up dead. You seem to think they are entirely expendable when, considering the lack of volunteers for the Cleaver lifestyle, they are _not_. Temper will be with you, and he shall command the Cleavers. That’s my final word.”

Skulduggery’s fist clenched, and he looked about ready to stand up, to get in China’s face at the blatant insult, so Valkyrie covered his hand with her own, and nodded.

“We understand,” she said quickly. Skulduggery looked at her, but nodded too after a moment, his hand unclenching under hers.

“Excellent,” China said with her bedazzling smile. It shone, as if they hadn’t been talking about something horrid, and she went to stand. “Is that all, Arbiters?”

“Ye- “

“Not quite,” Valkyrie interrupted. Skulduggery looked at her again, before remembering.

“Oh, right.”

Valkyrie explained Lucifer and Ali’s situation briefly, with Skulduggery adding a few words sideways.

“I see,” China said once they’d finished, her brow once again furrowed. “Unfortunately, I have a lot on my plate at the moment, but I’ve had Bliss instated in a position here, so I’ll pass this on to him. Those poor dears should be out of Ravel’s sights before tomorrow evening.”

“Excellent,” Valkyrie said with a smile as she stood. “Then we’re finished.”

Skulduggery stood as well though he faltered for a second, head tilted. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” her and China asked at the same time.

He listened a second longer, then shook his head. “Nothing. Perhaps I’m going crazy.”

“That implies you’re not crazy already,” Valkyrie said with a grin, before looking to China. “Thanks for your time.”

“At least someone remembered their manners,” China said with her own smile as they left.

“I’ll be honest,” Skulduggery said as they started down the corridor. “That went better than I expected.”

Indeed, it had, and Valkyrie could hear his satisfaction in his voice, replacing that strange and urgent frustration from earlier.

“And you kept your head,” she said, with a good-natured pat to his shoulder. “Well done.”

He scoffed. “You shouldn’t praise me for functioning like a normal human being, especially considering how close I came to snapping.”

“You restrained yourself just fine.”

Despite having felt a truckload of discomforting silence in the past few days alone, Valkyrie allowed it to settle among them. This, though, was companionable. Simple, and calm. The storm brewing was being slowly contained by their progress, and Valkyrie couldn’t stop the smile that showed at the thought.

They had solid evidence. Witnesses, and what they’d witnessed with their own eyes, as well as something written for all to see. It was hard evidence, and no one could argue against their plan of action.

They _were_ there, Valkyrie decided, and they _would_ be found. The paperwork, evidence-collecting – the boring shit of detective work – was over. Hell, they probably wouldn’t need their victim results now – well, not for finding the Dead Men of course. No, the path was lay in front of them, and their task was clear:

Find the Dead Men.

Her thoughts snapped away and her smile faded the moment they stepped into the waiting room. They both stood stock-still for a moment as a sense of overwhelming power swirled around them, before taking a few steps back.

“Stupid question,” she whispered under her breath, “but you feel that, right?”

“How could I not,” he muttered. His hands were up, searching the air. She watched him for a moment, brows raised.

“What are you hoping to find?”

“I suspect- there. Empowered cloaking sphere, in the corner.” He pointed, and Valkyrie nodded, biting her lip.

“So we do what? Barge in?”

Skulduggery whipped out his phone, and she watched him text before placing it away.

“I’ve alerted China and Temper. In the meantime, I doubt it’s anything we can’t handle – at least, until they arrive.”

He gave no other explanation, instead choosing to hover in the air, his arm around Valkyrie’s waist, and drifted them near the corner. She hesitated, before nodding to him, and they inched closer, and suddenly the power was drowning them, yet only two figures were standing there, one pressed to the wall by the throat.

Valkyrie felt herself freeze. They hadn’t seen them, but she recognised them both immediately.

Temper Fray stood against the wall, his eyes downcast and pained as he struggled; his face pale and tear tracked as he writhed. His clothes were ruined, with bruises littering his body, and a rib protruded from his chest.

She didn’t need to identify the second man. Skulduggery did it for her.

“Ravel.”

He spun to them in shock, before smirking. Temper slid to the ground behind him, suddenly forgotten as those gold eyes roamed over them.

“Skulduggery. Valkyrie,” he said with a smile, his teeth gleaming as much as those dangerous eyes. “How lovely to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day (or late Valentine's Day if yours was yesterday like mine)!
> 
> I have another chapter or two for you guys, and boii it's getting interesting. This journey is slow-burn, but boii it's a fiery one!
> 
> Sort of. I mean, this chapter was mostly spoken detectiving shit but... I promise it'll get interesting!
> 
> I want to point out that for this fic I planned for everyone to have unique handwriting, BUTTTTTTT (big butts) Archive of Our Own doesn't allow for different font types so... I guess that idea only lives in my Word document :/ But, anyways.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I love you guys <3


	17. Oh, How Kind

_Chapter 17:_

_A frigid breeze greeted Hopeless when he awoke, the sunlight in his eyes failing to warm him even as the rays broke through his rest. The only warmth he could feel was on his chest, where there was a slight weight._

_The terror of the previous evening finally caught up to him, and he stifled the groan in his throat as he blinked up at the sky. He was still exhausted from the barrier, could still feel his core begging to be fully replenished, but the possibility of danger still loomed over their heads, and that alone made him shake the dregs of sleep completely. _

_Wait. A weight on his chest-_

_He sat up quickly, to see a crop of light brown hair that shifted to reveal sparkling blue eyes and a soft smile. A bruise the size of an egg was above Larrikin’s left eye, with multiple smaller bruises littering his forehead and cheeks. His cheeks looked pinched, with the skin drawn so tight over them it look ready to tear. Hopeless smiled down regardless, and greeted him with a soft, “hey”._

_“Hey,” Larrikin whispered. He shifted off, sitting next to him. He fell into a hesitation as he fumbled with his hands, and a light blush invaded his pale cheeks. “Sorry if I woke you. It was cold, and I figured, you know, after everything you’d be most willing to, well…”_

_Hopeless blinked. “No, it’s alright.” He hardened his gaze as he raised a hand to Larrikin’s face. “’S your head alright?”_

_“It’s okay.” He brushed a glowing finger over the bruise, and watched it slowly turn from purple to green at his touch. Larrikin flinched and moved away, so he held that finger in front of his face._

_“Follow with your eyes.”_

_“Hopeless, I’m fine,” Larrikin emphasised with a frown, batting it away. “I’m not concussed or anything.”_

_“You are,” Hopeless corrected, frowning as well now. He let it go however, and instead reached for his leg. “How’s this then?”_

_He slowly untied the tourniquet, ignoring Larrikin’s grunt of pain as he inspected the wound. His hand glowed and he slowly stroked up and down, watching Larrikin’s face for reactions. Larrikin, for his part, attempted to school his features, but the pain proved too much a few times and he winced. The bullet was still nestled in his leg muscle, but removing it would cause too much bleeding, considering he didn’t have anything with which to heal the muscle._

_So Hopeless simply grimaced and retied the dirty bandages around it._

_“Where did you find these?” Larrikin asked. Hopeless shrugged._

_“Ravel had ‘em in his back pocket. Strangely stupid and pathetic, I know,” he added at Larrikin’s surprise._

_His frailty was blatantly obvious now that the light revealed him properly, so Hopeless grabbed Larrikin’s hands and made them into something resembling a bowl, smirking at his soft confusion._

_The air shimmered around them as he dampened it, and a few moments later water dripped into Larrikin’s hands from the atmosphere. He drank gratefully, downing another few handfuls as Hopeless’s eyes followed a stray drop of water that trickled down his chin to his neck. He found himself oddly compelled to trace the track it created._

_He snapped out of his stupor when Larrikin wiped it away himself, muttering his thanks as Hopeless retrieved the berries._

_“Here,” he said softly, handing Larrikin a handful. “Your share from last night.” The smile of gratitude was enough for Hopeless to believe he was okay. If Larrikin could still smile like that, he would be just fine._

_Hopeless looked around himself, then up._

_The sun shone high above them, in the centre of the sky, with few clouds surrounding. It was midday. Fucking midday. That cold breeze picked up again, and he pulled Larrikin to his chest when he shivered, not missing the second his own heartrate picked up._

_“Why…” The word carried an important question, he knew, and so he gently pressed Larrikin to ask it._

_“Why what?”_

_Those blue eyes looked up hesitantly. “Why did you check my core after… after that?” he asked. His voice was soft, yet still pierced him. “You would’ve been exhausted.”_

_Hopeless felt himself tense up. He hadn’t expected, let alone _wanted_ this talk. Not yet. “Perhaps I was following your irrationality.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_He stood, pushing Larrikin away and brushing off dirt as a bubbling began in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not sure, Larrikin. What _do_ I mean?” He let the aggressive tone through. Larrikin knew – he just needed to understand. He needed to understand how Hopeless felt, and _why_._

_Even if Hopeless himself didn’t understand it entirely._

_But Larrikin just sat there, gaping for a moment, before he dropped his gaze, and hence the subject, to the floor._

_Hopeless let him as he approached his sleeping comrades. This discussion was best had later, when they had time to relax._

_“Dex,” he said loudly, rousing his uninjured shoulder. “Dexter, wake up.”_

_The blonde stirred, blue-grey eyes narrowing in on him. “Hopeless? The hell, man.”_

_“What happened to keeping watch? It’s midday.”_

_Dexter sat bolt upright at that. “M-midday?” He yawned and stretched. “Shit, we gotta move then.”_

_It wasn’t ten minutes later everyone sat around the ashes that were once their campfire. Hopeless sat with Saracen to his left, and Anton to his right. Anton wasn’t wincing or flinching, ignorant to his wounds as he stared at the black mound in front of them. Hopeless almost admired his ability to zone out in moments like this. _

_A small handful of berries was passed to each of them, and he and Ghastly conjured water for everyone, allowing for generous drinks._

_There wasn’t much talk while they ate and drank. Dexter and Larrikin could be heard conversing quietly to his left, but he daren’t look to see the way Dexter touched him. His movements were gentle, filled with such care as he spoke, and Hopeless couldn’t help but feel jealous when Larrikin showed a soft smile._

Jealous_?_

_He shook his head. He didn’t get jealous; that was the wrong word. _Frustrated_ fit much better._

_“So,” he said loudly, rubbing his hands together, then on his pants to remove the berry juice; “what’s our plan?”_

_Ghastly blinked at him before answering. “We haven’t got one just yet.”_

_“We have to keep moving,” Saracen said. “We’re walking targets. Even once we return home, Ravel will be looking for us.”_

_“Yes, but the question is how do we _get_ home?” Anton pressed. “North, south, east and west can only direct us so far when we’re clueless as to where to go.”_

_“Then we choose our direction,” Dexter said with a shrug. “Pray it takes us somewhere – home, or to civilisation, to people we can ask for directions.”_

_“What if those people don’t speak English?”_

_“We’re still in Ireland, Anton,” Ghastly reminded. “They’ll speak English or Gaelic. Nothing we can’t handle.”_

_Dexter’s eyes brightened at his words. “You mean to say you like my plan?”_

_Ghastly scratched his chin. “It’s a start.” He turned to Hopeless. “How well rested are you?”_

_“Enough,” he answered. “I can search.”_

_“Hold on,” Larrikin interrupted. “We’ve no idea where we are, nor where to go, so we’re just gonna choose a direction and walk?”_

_“Depending on if and where I sense something, yes.” Larrikin opened his mouth, probably to indignantly point out their plan flaws, but Hopeless didn’t let him. “What Dexter is getting at with this idea, Larrikin,” he explained, “is that this can’t be everything. This whole country cannot possibly be desolate, with no civilisation.” He paused, then internally panicked. “Can it?”_

_“No,” Ghastly reassured. “If I remember correctly, the portal opens near a small town.”_

_“It does,” Saracen confirmed with a nod. “Whether anyone lives there anymore is unlikely, but the portal itself should hold enough power for Hopeless to detect it.”_

_“And even if he doesn’t find the portal, he’ll find something else,” Dexter added. “A different town perhaps.”_

_“Therefore, it shouldn’t matter where we walk, because there should always be a destination,” Hopeless finalised. “Even if we don’t know what or how far it is.”_

_“It’s not an efficient method of finding our way,” Larrikin protested._

_“What, you got some nifty gadget up your sleeve to help guide us Larrikin?” Anton asked with a glare. Larrikin’s jaw shifted, and Hopeless was torn between smirking or sneering at Anton’s provocation. “Or has your mastermind thought up another more ‘efficient’ way of getting out of here?”_

_“That’s not- you can’t- “_

_“Didn’t think so,” Anton interrupted. “Don’t reprimand us for not having a good enough plan if you cannot give us another.”_

_Larrikin shrank at his coldness, shrugging to himself. Hopeless grinned. Out of everyone, Anton shut him up best._

_He looked ready to protest once more, but seemed to think better. “When do we leave then?” he asked quietly instead, eyes trained on the ground._

_“As soon as we have our starting direction,” Ghastly answered, with a pointed look at Hopeless. He frowned, however. “A moment?”_

_Hopeless grunted, but followed him away from the group, ignoring the eyes on his back._

_Ghastly turned to face him, studying his face for a moment. “You sure you’re ready after yesterday’s fiasco?”_

_Hopeless grimaced. “Wouldn’t’ve said I was if I wasn’t.”_

_He received a nod in return, but the tension in Ghastly’s body remained._

_“I can’t help but notice Larrikin’s weakness.”_

_Hopeless held up a reassuring hand. “I’ve checked him over. He’ll be fine.”_

_“To walk? Hopeless – he struggled talking just now. His body doesn’t have enough energy or muscle to allow him much exertion.”_

_“You say that as if he’s a massive hinderance. Is he?”_

_Ghastly sighed. “No. Not at the moment. See, what I fear is… if his condition worsens, he may be a lost cause.” He glanced back at the man in question. “Hell, I worry he might be already.”_

_Hopeless looked back too. Larrikin’s arms were wrapped tightly around himself. Where there was usually muscle was all skin and bone, little more than a skeleton wrapped in thin cloth. The bruise above his eye, although faded and healed from earlier, looked painful and, despite Larrikin’s denial, the sluggishness of his actions showed the serious concussion he’d barely recovered from. He was especially careful with his injured leg, only moving it if he had to because of the pain._

_And that, Hopeless knew, was just scratching the surface._

_“He’s going to die soon,” Ghastly whispered, gripping Hopeless’s arm tightly to reign his attention. His eyes snapped back at his words as a sinking cold wrapped around him, more frigid than the surrounding, foreign air._

_“Nonsense,” he scoffed, though it was hollow and lacked confidence. “I’ll keep an eye on him. He’s taken everything well, circumstances considered. He’ll be fine, I assure you.”_

_Ghastly eyed him for a moment, looked him up and down, then sighed and nodded. “I trust you. Just – if he doesn’t improve- “_

_“He will,” Hopeless insisted. “I know he will.”_

_Another nod. “Very well.” Ghastly rubbed his forehead. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate this search happen sooner than later, at your earliest convenience.”_

_“I can do it right now, if you wish,” he answered with a smile._

_“Excellent. Let me know if and when you find something.”_

_“Will do.”_

_Hopeless closed his eyes as Ghastly left him. He reached out, his magic pouring from his body without a physical form, simply an astral being branching out. He started east – the direction they’d travelled so far. His power nudged at other weaker presences, such as plants and animals, ignoring those insignificant cores as it searched deeper, further into the distance. One mile soon became two, then four, eight…_

_It took a minute to reach his limit, a hundred miles in the distance straight ahead, dead east. He expanded it, arms spreading wide to better conduct it as it stretched and encircled them. He ignored the cores of his friends, extending it out to its full mile radius in a circle all around. He placed his sensing focus in a single line, starting back at east, and, at an incredibly excruciatingly pace, slowly moved around the range towards the north as he scanned every mile._

_He felt it within seconds of facing north: a current of energy emitting itself in its own small radius – too powerful to be a living being. Hopeless focused on its power and reached out, with the air this time, to attempt a reconstruction of this structure to familiarise with. It was too far however – ninety or so miles judging by its placement on his radar, so he gave up, hand dropping to his side as he sharpened his mind._

_North; slightly west. That was it._

_He was about to pinpoint it with a power turret of his own, to reach out with his astral magic and place a mental beacon of sorts, when he heard a soft gasp, and seconds later he was on the ground, all sense of power slowly leaving his body as an unbidden weakness took over. It would be a while before he used sensation or astral again, and he hadn’t even…_

_“What the hell!” he hissed, pushing the weight off him._

_“I’m sorry!” Larrikin said exasperatedly. “I’m so sorry, Ghastly wanted me to see if you were finished, I didn’t mean to fall, I swear, I’m sorry!”_

_“You fucking clumsy or what?” he asked angrily, ignoring every apology stringing from Larrikin’s mouth. “I was about to pinpoint it, you retard, to make it easier to track.”_

_“I- I didn’t know. I’m so sorry!”_

_Hopeless seethed in the frustration, and had to refrain himself from shoving Larrikin back to the ground as he clumsily stood. “You will be sorry,” he muttered, and left Larrikin standing there to wonder if his statement carried intentional malice or not._

_“Found it?” Saracen asked as he arrived back, reading his urgency._

_“Think so. I’ve certainly found something powerful, at least.” He pointed. “Out north, almost directly, just slightly west. Ninety or so miles.”_

_“Another long walk,” Dexter groaned, though there was a certain playfulness in his voice. “Fan-fucking-tastic!”_

_“Quit complaining,” Anton said gruffly. “It’s our way home, so we’d best suck it up and walk.”_

_“So serious, Anton,” Dexter teased. “Lighten up, would you? We’re gonna be home soon enough.”_

_“Assuming everything goes smoothly, of course. I can’t lighten up – I’m the one who rationalises everything and worries about our possible future ailments.”_

_Dexter’s smile wavered. “Fair enough.”_

_Hopeless did his best to ignore Larrikin as he stepped up next to him._

_“How long will it take us to get there?” he asked though, making the task impossible._

_Hopeless turned to him, holding back a sneer. It dissipated at Larrikin’s tired and still apologetic expression though, and his heart immediately ached for him over the frustration. He swallowed shallowly before responding._

_“Counting regular rests for food and sleep, I say five days including today.”_

_“The portal should be open by then,” Ghastly said from behind him. “We’ve timed ourselves perfectly.”_

_It took little time to be on their way. They destroyed the campfire, rendered it unrecognisable so as to cover their tracks, then set off north._

_Everyone’s steps had an exhausted flaw to them. Anton and Ghastly’s were heavier than usual, what remained of their bulk straining their legs mercilessly. Dexter was still slightly clumsy from his concussion, and Saracen stumbled frequently in exhaustion. Hopeless himself felt the same way. The drain from using sensation and astral at once after such imprisonment weighed him down, making him trudge rather than walk._

_Yet somehow, despite Hopeless wanting to believe he was alright, Larrikin’s walk was worse than all theirs combined._

_He limped gracelessly, wincing but never daring to verbalise his pain. A hand was on his head, holding that egg as he walked. Several times he stumbled, placing weight on his injured leg, and grimaced. The sight hurt, especially considering Hopeless usually would’ve fixed him in a heartbeat._

_Hopeless couldn’t help but admire Larrikin’s determination. Even as tears of pain threatened to stain his cheeks, his features contorted in concentration, ready for his next step, for the next moment of searing pain. His strength was usually hidden like this – shown only in his small, quiet feats._

_He tore his eyes away, instead watching in front of him as clouds tumbled overhead. They walked for a little over an hour, before a soft huff of pain had him turn._

_Larrikin’s cheeks were wet with tears, and he simply stood for a moment, eyes on the ground as he concentrated, before heaving his next step._

_“Enough of this,” Ghastly said quietly. He walked over, ready to assist, but Larrikin held him at bay._

_“I-I’m fine,” he said with a sniffle, and Hopeless’s heart burned as he hastily wiped his eyes. “I don’t need your help, thank you.”_

_Ghastly look unimpressed, but didn’t enforce the issue. He looked to Hopeless for advice, but all he could do was shrug._

_“Alright,” he muttered._

_They didn’t stop for a rest until a few hours later, the sun dipping low in the sky as they lowered themselves onto rocks. Hopeless only noticed now as he sat that Larrikin had remained a fair distance behind them, and clicked his tongue._

_“You really shouldn’t walk on that leg,” he said aloud. Larrikin’s eyes met his as everyone went to stare at him. Everyone except Anton who, as usual, obviously didn’t give a shit._

_“It’s fine,” Larrikin said indignantly._

_“Your face says otherwise.”_

_Larrikin hurriedly wiped more tears away. “I’m _fine_.”_

_“Cut the bullshit,” Saracen said with a frown. “You’re nursing a serious concussion and a bullet to the leg, as well as a century of being starved. You’re _far_ from fine.”_

_“Yeah?” Larrikin winced as he sat, but tried a smile. “Not like anyone can do anything about it, or like I can walk another way.”_

_He was technically right, so the subject dropped, but Hopeless frowned when Larrikin winced again. Another motion almost graced his features, and Larrikin shunned it. But that was all he needed._

_“Your core’s playing up.”_

_Larrikin barked a laugh. “Say what?”_

_Anger flashed over Hopeless at the dismissal. “You heard me the first time.” Larrikin flinched away from him as he approached. He used sensation power for a few seconds, and felt the overflow of his core the minute he stepped within his aura. “Jesus!”_

_“How bad is it?” Ghastly asked, stepping up beside him._

_“Dreadful.” Hopeless glared daggers at the idiot in front of him. “You’ve let it torture you this whole time, haven’t you?”_

_“It’s milder than you think, so it doesn’t matter,” Larrikin responded through gritted teeth. “Not like you can do anything about it anyway.”_

_The insulation of those words was hurtful. It burned through Hopeless’s patience in a millisecond, setting fire to his entire body, lighting it with rage._

_He said it as though it was Hopeless’s fault. It was _his_ fault he was unable to heal him. _His_ fault his core was hurting him in the first place._

His. Fault.

_That snapped him. He’d wanted to wait for this, to talk about it properly in private, but the moment was too important to hold out._

_“What you did yesterday wasn’t my fault,” he said with a snarl._

_All eyes were on them in an instant, and Larrikin swallowed, his aggression gone._

_“What did he do?” Anton asked quietly. He rounded on Larrikin in seconds. “What did you do?”_

_“Nothing,” Larrikin responded tiredly._

_“Liar,” Hopeless sneered. “Once you realised your efforts at fighting him would be useless, you didn’t move. Hell, you stood in front of him the moment he was there. You _knew_ what was going to happen, and you let it.”_

_He watched the realisation seep into everyone’s faces. Ghastly took a step back, and Hopeless could almost feel him shake. From fury or pity, he couldn’t tell. Not until he exploded, that was._

_“You let him torture you?” he gasped. “Are you _stupid_?”_

_“No, you’re not getting the whole picture,” Larrikin tried, but Anton cut him off._

_“What are you, masochistic?”_

_“No, I swear, I- “_

_Hopeless relished in the shouting. Larrikin was right: he hadn’t told them everything._

_And, as much as he cared about Larrikin’s wellbeing, that idiot needed some sense yelled into him from time to time._

_Except now, he didn’t appear to process any of it. He shook his head, eyes on the ground again, and Hopeless felt his anxiety radiate off him slowly as he fidgeted, flinching at each statement, each insult; and almost called for it to stop._

_But no. Larrikin needed to understand. So Hopeless let him take all of it and stood back to watch him suffer._

_They bombarded him with comments and insults, asking questions they didn’t let Larrikin answer, despite him opening his mouth to each one. Tears soon made their way down his face, slow and steady, and he stopped listening._

_Ghastly gave up after a moment, turning to walk away from him with a hand raised to his head, taking deep breaths to calm himself, even as Anton upped his volume._

_ “Enough!” Dexter shouted from the sideline where he, Hopeless only noticed now, had been the whole time. “Jesus Christ, you guys didn’t let him fit a word in sideways through all of that!”_

_Dexter dashed forward, somehow lifting Larrikin despite his own weakness, and walked a few feet. They sat in the grass, Larrikin in Dexter’s lap as the blonde stroked his hair, cooing him gently to calm him down and glaring at them all in between._

_Hopeless felt frozen in time as everyone moved around him. The sky was darkening rapidly by now, and Anton and Ghastly were setting up camp for the night whilst Saracen found food – wherever that was in this desolate place. Yet all he could do was stare at the damage he’d caused as Larrikin hiccupped through his sobs. He swallowed the guilt over and over, but it kept bubbling in his throat, trying and failing to force an apology past his lips._

_He didn’t have to apologise. It was to make sure it didn’t happen again, that was all. It was fine._

_Dexter locked eyes with him, and in that moment something clicked:_

_Dexter knew what had happened. He _knew_ what Hopeless was doing._

_He’d been in his position before, after all._

_“You bastard,” Dexter snarled at him, even as he ran a gentle hand through messy brown locks. “Bet you enjoyed him being destroyed like that, huh.”_

_Hopeless decided to lean on the defensive. “You know my reasoning already.”_

_“Yeah. And it was shit. See, what you don’t understand, Hopeless, is that emotional manipulation doesn’t teach – not in any meaningful or fair way.”_

_“Don’t care,” he muttered, then turned to walk away. He stopped short, and said to him: “keep him warm.”_

_Dexter frowned. “I plan to. Care to explain why you felt the need to tell me?”_

_Hopeless shrugged, his nonchalant demeanour hiding his bubbling guilt and… frustration._

_“Energy spent shivering is energy wasted,” he stated, then walked away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooohkay, so I know I said things would get interesting and fiery, and I know basically nothing has happened (except for Hopeless being an amazing magical asshole) but... I'm getting there. The next chapter, I swear, will blow you away. I promise!
> 
> I love writing Hopeless and Larrikin, mostly because we know almost nothing about them, which allows me to write them however the hell I want :D
> 
> Lol, anyways, thanks for reading! <3


	18. Stabbed in the Back

Chapter 18: Stabbed in the Back

Temper’s entire body _ached_, his chest most of all. He lay against the wall, paralysed by the pain as Skulduggery and Valkyrie came into focus through his tears. More spilled onto his cheeks as that lingering fiery pain in his chest spasmed again, its intensity increased tenfold for a second before it slowly faded, teasing him with the possibility of leaving.

It wouldn’t. It hadn’t for the past few hours.

“- the hell made you think it wise to come _here_ of all places, right under our noses?” he heard Skulduggery ask. His muscles began tingling as they came back online, and he slowly reached up to scrub his face clear of tears.

“The answer’s quite simple, you see,” Ravel answered eloquently, taking a confident step towards the Arbiters. Temper recognised that smirk and drowned in terror. His throat refused to scream the warning as Ravel took another step. “You.”

“And what about us interests you so much?” Valkyrie asked. She held her shock sticks tightly, Temper able to see her white knuckles from where he lay. He begged his legs to move; to drag him away if it was all he could manage. His internal pleading was ignored though, so he simply panted and watched the prebattle speech.

Ravel laughed. “You being on my case, of course.” He grinned, white teeth revealed to them. “I must say, I’m impressed by your progress. You _immediately_ concluded I was involved after Bliss reappeared. I expected you to need further persuasion.”

Temper reached out with a shaky arm, testing his strength.

“You convinced me something more was happening after you killed – no, _captured_ – Dexter and Saracen,” Skulduggery said lowly.

Ravel whistled. “Damn, should’ve known those two troublemakers would foil me.”

Temper tried to drag himself forward, but Ravel must’ve felt his movement, for he lashed a backwards kick right into his nose. He grunted deep in his throat as the back of his head hit the wall. He lay on his back, staring numbly at the ceiling as the scene unfolded.

A few more words, now muffled considering his head injuries, were exchanged between the three, before he saw a bright blue light hit Ravel square in the chest in his peripheral vision.

He howled, and Temper slowly looked at him as he held a hand to his chest. Skulduggery approached with his revolver pointed straight at his head. Ravel sprung forward however, and batted it from his hands. Valkyrie came forward, her first shock stick missing his head by an inch, the other catching him in the chest as Skulduggery punched him hard in the face.

The air rippled as he flung Skulduggery into the wall opposite them, careless to the cloaking sphere. His free hand guided air and pinned Valkyrie to the wall beside him easily, and he threw her sticks away even as she lashed out at him. He smirked at her.

“Lightning, huh?” Temper heard him say. “Interesting choice. Should pair you and Dexter on a date.”

Ravel suddenly hit the wall, Skulduggery’s revenge as he stood. His revolver was trained on Ravel’s face even as he stood, but Ravel dropped and rolled as the gunshot echoed.

“Missed me,” he said with a cocky grin. Skulduggery took aim again, but the bullet was sent off-course by air. Valkyrie was somehow still pinned to the wall.

“You’ve finally learned how to command air without an outward motion,” Skulduggery said coldly, tilting his head to her, sharing Temper’s curiosity. “How inconvenient.”

Ravel laughed, ignorant to Skulduggery’s distraction as he flew forward, punching him square on the jaw.

Temper’s mind was too sluggish to keep up with the close combat. He instead focused on his legs, willing his toes to wriggle, his ankle to roll – any motion from below his hips.

A sudden panic filled him as he felt nothing.

Someone – Skulduggery, he realised after a few confused seconds – landed on top of him. He scrambled off, pausing for just a second.

“Temper. Get out of here.”

It went in one ear and out the other, only a single braincell focusing enough to repeat it for him.

_Get out of here._

He watched Skulduggery reload his gun as Valkyrie fought Ravel in close combat. Her shock sticks blurred from speed – or perhaps Temper’s teary vision – as they fought.

Ravel fell back, head hitting the floor with a loud _bang_ as electricity fizzled through his body for a second. He seemed dazed for a moment, but covered up when Skulduggery landed on top of him, gun in hand. Ravel snarled as he fought for possession of it, hands twisting around Skulduggery’s wrist. Valkyrie clacked her sticks together, and lengthened it into her staff. Temper saw her dive in and vouched for her silently, even as Ravel redirected his wrestling to point the revolver at her.

Skulduggery yelped the warning a second too late, and a loud shot echoed through the bubble of space they were trapped in.

Valkyrie’s eyes widened, and she fell backwards, deaf to Skulduggery’s yelling. At point-blank range, she’d be dead already if he’d hit her anywhere important.

Temper sat up, slow enough to not fuck with his head, and looked over at her.

The bullet was buried in her stomach.

Her hands reached up to cover the wound weakly, but the amount of blood suggested extensive damage.

_Help her_, his mind offered helpfully at the sudden blankness that took over his thought processes. _Help her._

He reached forward with both arms, and dragged. The pain in his chest flared again for another split second, sending more tears down his cheeks, but he pulled again.

_Help her._

He was an arm’s reach away.

Temper stretched forward again, hand closing around her wrist. It was easier to drag her, as she came to him easily. Her shock was obvious, eyes tearing as her hands pressed to the wound. Temper heaved breaths over her, mind racing, before tearing his shirt over his head and using it to staunch the bleeding. His own chest ached suddenly, and he gasped as he held a hand to his own wound, the rib sticking out prodding his hand unkindly.

He took Valkyrie by the arm, reaching forward with his other hand to drag her away from the scene. He reached the edge of the room, pushing her around the corner. As he did, a buzzing flooded his legs as they finally responded, his toes wriggling to speed the process up.

Temper heaved himself onto his knees, panting, before standing on shaky legs. He stumbled, his legs still slightly numb, but returned to the crime scene in time to see Skulduggery begin writhing, his scream piercing the air.

Ravel, whose face was littered with bruises and blood, grinned down at him. “Recognise that?”

Skulduggery roared, trying and failing to sit up as the torture pressed him into the cold tiles, but Ravel glanced up from his captive, and frowned. “Aw, Christ.”

Temper looked up too, to see China and Bliss standing at the end of the hall, both looking distinctly pissed.

“He said someone was here?” Bliss asked quietly.

“He did,” China responded, unimpressed, before sharing a few words Temper didn’t catch.

_The cloaking sphere._

Temper hobbled as best he could to the corner where it lay, but collapsed on the way over. Ravel spun to him, snarling, and that searing pain erupted in his chest, slowly flowing up to his arms. He had no breath with which to scream, and simply lay on the floor writhing, mouth hanging open as he struggled.

Skulduggery hadn’t sat up yet, probably in too much shock to do so, and the thought finally occurred to Temper:

They were going to lose.

He fought the pain, ignoring his tears as he reached forward. His hands closed around it, and he lifted with a heavy arm, and threw the orb as hard as he could.

It landed in front of China’s feet, and she frowned, before picking it up.

It retracted at her touch, and her eyes locked onto the scene within milliseconds.

A sudden punch from Ravel sent Temper’s mind into a foggy state, and the next thing he knew China was standing in front of Ravel, whom was now inside some box of energy. China’s arms were glowing from her symbols, and her face was contorted with rage. Skulduggery stood slowly, bones clacking as he moved, and Bliss simply loomed over Ravel, calmly disgusted.

“I have doctors on the way,” he said stiffly. “Those two will be fine.”

Skulduggery checked over Valkyrie whilst China and Bliss discussed what to do with their prisoner. He then walked over to Temper.

“I told you to leave,” he said upon reaching him.

“B-barely heard you,” he rasped, holding his burning side.

Skulduggery’s head cocked, silent for a moment. “It wasn’t your power I detected, was it?” he asked rigidly.

Temper frowned. “’Course not.”

Skulduggery spun in alarm. “He’s not alone,” he said aloud to the other two.

A sudden darkness loomed overhead, shadows filling the room entirely, as shadowy figures appeared in the room. Temper covered up, arms over his head as they appeared, and once the air cleared, Ravel was free, standing next to Solomon Wreath.

“I’m insulted you think I’d come here alone,” Ravel said with a smirk, and with a single motion to Wreath, China and Bliss were off the ground. “Even _more_ insulted you contacted for help before fighting.” The irony was clearly lost to him as he glared at Skulduggery, who flicked his hand, revolver flying into his grip.

A shadow wrenched it from him however, before forcing him into a kneeling position. The motion made Temper’s blood boil.

“I’ll admit,” Ravel said casually, walking around him as he struggled against the dark bonds “I realise I shouldn’t be surprised of how much you know. I did, after all, leave bodies and clues for you to find.” He smirked cockily. “You could say I laid the foundation for your case. You’re welcome.”

“Go to hell,” Skulduggery gritted out. Ravel barked a laugh, before glaring at him hurtfully once more, and Skulduggery started to squirm.

“I’m not sure if you heard me the first time I asked, but do you recognise that? That pain?”

“S-Serpine,” he managed. “You copied his p-pow- agh!”

“I did, yes.” Ravel paused, lifting Skulduggery’s chin to look at him properly. “You see it?”

There was no response, only a choked gasp from China.

“Gentlemen, don’t,” Wreath barked, and the two Necromancers lifting China’s dress with their shadows retreated, heads bowed at being caught.

“Ah, of course,” Ravel said with a smirk, walking over to the brother and sister. “How could I forget?” He tilted his head at them for a moment, then smiled at Bliss. “I’ll be honest, Bliss. I hadn’t expected you to yield at simple threats. And yet, your weakness has persisted further. You didn’t even _try_ to hit me just now.”

“I didn’t have to,” he responded coldly.

Ravel shrugged. “Maybe you should have.”

Temper had seen enough. He heaved himself into a sitting position, expecting a shadow to attack him, to wrap around his torso and leave him struggling; but none came. He’d been entirely forgotten.

_Good_, he thought to himself, moving into a kneeling position, wincing and panting quietly as he readied himself. _Let them be surprised._

His inner demon chuckled, heating up with his frustration and anger, then burst free from him, screeching as it drew on his energy supply. It clawed through the air, swimming through the shadows unharmed, searching for those screaming in fear. All eyes turned to him within seconds as his Gist burrowed deep into the protective shadows.

A blonde head of hair rolled near his feet, splattering the white tiles in red. Screams and squeals echoed around the walls as Temper’s Gist followed them, tearing bodies apart.

“Not another one!” one of the Necromancers yelled, before disappearing in a sweep of shadows. Others followed, a select few remaining behind to fight.

One sent shadows Temper’s way, but the Gist soared through them, dug a clawed hand into her chest, and tore out her still beating heart. Dead before she hit the floor, the shadows disappeared in an instant, and his Gist continued to the next target, tearing a guy’s pale face off his skull.

Temper roared as a stray shadow pierced his lower abdomen, tearing wide the already insistently painful wound. Along with the pain came a burning fury that his Gist swallowed in an instant as power, hunting down the idiotic Necromancer. He hollered in pain as a vengeful taloned hand struck his stomach, ripping intestines out carelessly, and leaving him to bleed out on the floor.

Wreath and Ravel stood huddled in a corner, whispering amongst themselves hurriedly. The Gist roared in excitement at the sight, and the two men’s eyes locked onto it. Ravel managed to duck underneath it, but Wreath was only slightly too slow, and took a clawed swiped across his face that left him bleeding madly. A shadow wrapped around them, and an angry shriek came from the Gist as they disappeared, appearing a moment later in the hallway. Temper’s Gist followed, almost reaching them before those shadows returned, and they stood in front of him.

Swerving directly backwards, the Gist made for them again, but Skulduggery knocked the two men down, and this time when the cowards disappeared, they didn’t return.

His Gist swerved, aiming for the next person in front of it-

Temper reigned for control, steering it away from Bliss and China, who were simply standing as far out of his way as possible. Skulduggery ducked under the furious spirit-like being, making his way to Temper’s side.

“They’re gone,” he said loudly over his Gist’s unhappy screaming. “Focus, Temper. Draw it back.”

He didn’t dare nod; he needed all his energy and focus on the clawing monster still flying madly around the room. His breaths heaved as he narrowed his eyes, and his demon drew back into his chest slightly. He gasped at the pain it caused him, and that was all it took for the Gist to pull away, it almost winning complete control in that millisecond of distraction.

“Temper, _concentrate_. I can help from halfway, but this is all you until then.”

Eyes closed; Temper forcefully threw those dark, dangerous thoughts from his head. He pushed aside the will to fight, to cause bloodshed, and instead enlightened his mind with happy endings, with cliché, too-good-to-be-true stories. It was his usual, pathetic control method, and it never failed to surprise him how well it worked.

The Gist drew back again, scrabbling the air desperately and hollering in distress.

Just a little more.

Temper pulled with all his mental energy, tears dribbling down his cheeks again from pain, as the Gist slowly retracted.

A sudden coldness closed around his left wrist, and his Gist rapidly shot backwards, letting out a high-pitched shriek as it suddenly drew back completely, slamming into Temper’s chest painfully. He let out a scream himself as his chest throbbed, the shock of the handcuffs forcing his power to end too much as his eyelids fluttered. He fell backwards, and tried to concentrate on Skulduggery above him, on the words he was saying, but the darkness closing in was too inviting.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

_“You wanted to see me?”_

_China turned to face him slowly, never a falter in her elegance as her green dress swished around her. She smiled warmly. “Temper. I did indeed. Come, join me for a walk.”_

_He followed her outside to the courtyard. The gardens here were beautiful, leafy green and flowering at this time of year. Hedges lined the far wall, with small daisies and various other flowers growing in flower beds nearby. Right in the centre, where the path led in a full circle before breaking off to numerous destinations, was a rose garden, harbouring bright red roses. Most were still budding, but the early bloomers were open wide, presenting velvet-red petals, contrasting pointy green stems._

_They stopped in front of this rose garden, where their escorting Cleaver came forward and, with a single swipe of his scythe, removed a flower and handed it to China, who smiled gratefully._

_Deciding to breach the peace for the sake of time, Temper asked calmly: “I understand this meeting is to discuss Skulduggery’s case?”_

_“It is,” she responded. She twirled the flower between her fingers, her smile turning thin. “I’ve concluded, given the circumstantial evidence, that Ravel is alive.” Her smile faltered further. “For this reason, I no longer want Skulduggery close to the case. His personal drives may overrun his professionalism.”_

_“You believe he’ll be irrational.”_

_“He already has been.” She fixed Temper with a stern look. “I’ve organised a meeting with him tomorrow, where I’m sure he’ll ask to visit the Leibniz Universe, in order to find the Dead Men.”_

_Temper raised a brow. “We’ve decided they are alive too, then?”_

_China sighed. “I found Ravel’s portal the other day. Shortly after he returned, I had Bliss shut it down completely. That, for me, was evidence enough of _something_ happening in that universe.”_

_“I see.”_

_“I’ll grant Skulduggery permission, but on the condition that you are with him. Your task,” she placed the rose in her hair, neatly above her pristine braid, “is to make sure Skulduggery does _not_ find them.”_

_Temper frowned. “I’m sorry, might I ask why?”_

_“The Dead Men were his comrades – his family, of sorts. If he finds them, I’ll have no opportunity to understand what happened. Skulduggery will either protect them with sincere irrationality, out of fear of losing them again; or march them straight into Ravel’s clutches in an attempt to bring him down. If I can bring them back here _without_ him knowing, I can get answers, and will be better equipped to provide protection of my own, as well as remove Ravel as a security threat.”_

_“And what about Skulduggery, when he finds out?”_

_“He’ll be angry, I’m sure,” she said, eyes flittering around the garden. “But you must understand, Temper, that this is for the sake of Roarhaven, and the Sanctuary.”_

_“As well as to sate your curiosity, I’m sure,” Temper added, without malice. China beamed brightly again._

_“Perhaps. In the meantime, you must not reveal any information to him regarding Ravel or the Dead Men. This is an issue for the Sanctuary to resolve, and I intend to do it without his foolish attempts of controlling the situation.”_

_“I guess I’m being sworn to silence, then.”_

_She regarded him, a slight coldness to her stance now as her smile faded slightly. “You are.”_

_“And should my tongue slip, by any means?”_

_A cold point found its place in the small of Temper’s back, and he froze, hands slowly raising up in front of him in surrender as the Cleaver pressed the scythe into him as a warning. China knew exactly how to hit him hard._

_“If a single piece of information leaves you, in any way for any reason, consider your safety compromised,” China said quietly._

_He sighed, then nodded. “I understand. He won’t learn a thing from me.”_

_The blade left him, and China’s smile returned briefly. “Good to hear. I’m trusting you with this, Temper. Don’t let me down.”_

_He drew a somewhat shaky breath. “I won’t.”_

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

Clean. Everything around Temper smelled clean and fresh. Sterilised.

White walls greeted him upon opening his eyes, along with a soft beeping coming from his left. He lay in a hospital bed, IV connected to him and a dull ache in his chest. He rubbed his eyes slowly, wiping away the blurs, then sat up. There was little in the room; apart from the machinery around and/or connected to him, there was only a wooden cabinet at the far end of the room, with cupboards at the base and various medicines lining the upper shelves.

Temper swept his investigation to the left of him, where the IV and heart monitor were. He appeared to be normal, according to them, though he could feel the painkillers taking a hold of and fogging his mind.

He turned to his right, and almost jumped out of his skin.

“Morning,” Skulduggery said evenly. He was sitting in a plastic chair, not quite a metre from his bed.

“Jesus fuck,” he swore, ignoring the bleep of his startled pulse on the monitor as he scrubbed a hand over his face. His voice was harsh and raspy. He squinted to the window over Skulduggery’s shoulder, taking in the bright sunlight. A nurse came into the room, attached a fresh bag of medicine to the IV, then left again. In that time, Temper’s brain finally provided the question he wanted to ask. “How long’ve I been out for?”

“Two days,” Skulduggery answered, and Temper’s stomach dropped. “Your Gist drew a lot out of you, especially considering the prior torture.” He cocked his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Woozy, but fine,” Temper said with a forced smile. He sat up further, wincing slightly as his chest stung. He looked down at himself and saw that, instead of wearing a hospital robe, he was naked, the blanket his only dignity-saver. Along the middle of his chest, just under his lungs, was a line of stitches. He ran a hand along them, and hissed. Yep, they were real.

Skulduggery sat further forward in his seat. “I realise this may be an unreasonable time, but given enough time has been wasted…” he drew a notepad from his pocket, and Temper’s brows furrowed when he also recovered a pen. “I have a few questions to ask you.”

“Now?” he asked, frowning.

“I need all the information I can get as soon as possible. It’s crucial, Temper.”

“Okay, uh,” Temper reached behind himself, fluffed the pillow to be comfier, then lay back slightly. “Ask away. Wait, no – before you do, _I_ have a question.” A confused sort of frustration simmered in his stomach. “Why, _why _did you think forcing my Gist back into me was a good idea?”

He shrugged. “It’s worked before. I didn’t expect you to pass out so suddenly, I’ll admit, but I’ve done it before, and it turned out fine.”

“You’ve- oh, right.” He rubbed his temples. “With Shudder, I assume?”

“You assume correctly.”

Temper sighed. “You realise his experience makes such incidents easier for him, right?”

“And you’re telling me this, why?”

“Because you could kill me, or make me kill someone _else_ doing that shit, when you consider my inexperience!” He massaged his temples again, trying to force the anger away. “Sorry, don’t mean to snap.”

“No, I understand,” Skulduggery replied with surprising calmness. Temper grimaced as the stinging in his chest slowly became more pronounced. “I’ll trust you – or ask – if we’re ever in that situation again.”

“Admirable consideration from you, Skulduggery.”

“As always.” He clicked his pen a couple of times. “Might I ask my questions now?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry.” Temper repositioned himself, trying to alleviate his pain somehow. “Go ahead.”

“It is to my understanding that Ravel tortured you for information regarding my case.” Skulduggery squared an ankle over his knees as he pressed pen to paper. “I need to know what he wanted.”

“I- “

_“In the meantime, you must not reveal any information to him regarding Ravel or the Dead Men.”_

Temper paused, mouth hanging open stupidly before he closed it. China’s words rang through his head a couple more times as his heart pounded. He remembered vividly that blade pressing into him, and almost shivered at the insinuation.

He was going to leave it there, make an excuse perhaps and send Skulduggery away, but he read the hesitance immediately.

“Temper?”

He blinked at him, hoping he bought the faked blankness, then shrugged, wincing at the pain it brought. After he’d woken up, those painkillers started doing jack-shit.

“I… I don’t remember,” he said quietly, drawing his brows together in his act.

Skulduggery scrawled in the book for a moment, before looking up at him.

“What sort of information was he after?”

He swallowed, hoping to be convincing. He couldn’t tell Skulduggery _nothing_ – his obliviousness would ring alarm bells. The bare necessity would work. He needn’t know the details.

“Locations, I think. He was looking for something.”

“And that something was…?”

“I don’t remember.”

“He told Valkyrie and I he was there for us. What do you know about that?”

“He knew you were onto him. Probably wanted to eliminate you both, considering you’re risks to his work.”

Skulduggery leaned in, and Temper had to use every ounce of self-control not to flinch backwards away from him. Interrogational Skulduggery could be intimidating.

“What work?”

Shit. “I thought you already knew all this,” he countered with a frown.

“I know he has the Dead Men hidden, but I believe he has other achievements in mind. What do you know of them?”

“Nothing,” he said neutrally. “As far as I know, everything’s been to hide them.”

Skulduggery placed a hand on his arm, firm and slightly condescending, and asked: “why are you lying to me?”

Temper groaned, and rubbed his face again. The pain in his chest was overwhelming, and he held a hand over the stitches as it set his skin on fire.

“I’m not,” he defended. “My memory’s just shit, considering I was _tortured_, and all.” He grimaced as Skulduggery stood and walked around to his IV. “Besides, these painkillers are a crock of shit.”

Skulduggery read the label on the bag, then tilted his head at him. “What painkillers?”

Temper’s heartrate spiked considerably on the heart monitor, but he did his best to ignore it. “What do you mean?” he asked through gritted teeth. “I woke up on painkillers, what do you _mean_\- “

He paused, and Skulduggery sat back down, his chair right next to Temper and a finger tapping on the side of the bed.

“The girl who brought the fresh bag,” he muttered. “The dosage must be wrong.”

“It’s right. According to your script, that is.”

Temper grunted as he laid back a bit more. “Then my script must be wrong.”

“It is. I made sure of it.”

His breath caught in his throat at the implication and the heart monitor revealed his elevating pulse. He raised his head to look at him, and the tapping motion stopped. “You- you _what?_”

Skulduggery hummed, then pulled the sheet down to view Temper’s chest better. He tried to pull it up, self-conscious, but Skulduggery’s grip was firm. “When Valkyrie and I found you, we’d just finished talking with China. She gave us permission to find the Dead Men.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” he said softly, hand still on the sheet. “Do you mind?”

“She gave us permission, but only if you were with us.” He drummed just above the stitching, making Temper flinch. “Are you aware of this?”

“I am now,” he gritted, batting Skulduggery’s hand away. “What are you doing?”

“China and I have known each other for a long time – long enough to know how each other’s minds work. She’s come out of her selfish shell these past couple of years, astonishingly enough, but I know there are still curiosities that she defends. This case happens to be one of them.”

“She fears your irrationality,” Temper muttered.

“Which is why she’s asked you to sabotage my case, whether when we attempt to find them or at a different time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really Temper? That screen there says otherwise.”

Temper looked up at the heart monitor, and it indeed revealed his distress. He breathed deeply, trying and failing to steady his high pulse. It instead became more randomised on the screen.

Skulduggery used this moment to his advantage, and ripped the sheets off the bed with not a care for Temper’s dignity. He jumped up with a raspy “hey!”, before groaning in pain and laying back down.

“Oh, excuse me, how rude,” Skulduggery said lightly, as if it were an accident. He then draped the blanket over his modesty, leaving his lower legs and torso bare to the cold air.

Temper licked his lips. “Is there a reason for such drama?” he asked. The playful lilt in his tone failed him miserably, instead making him sound desperately afraid.

Skulduggery hummed as he started towards the cabinet cupboards. “There is.”

“And that would be?”

Skulduggery rummaged for a moment, before turning back to him, bandages in hand. “Simple: I need answers, Temper, and only _you_ can give them to me.”

Temper’s breathing sped up as he thought this through, shrinking away unintentionally when Skulduggery approached. “What are you doing?”

“Getting answers.”

Before Temper could react, air pressed down on his legs as Skulduggery reached for one. Temper gritted his teeth, his movements weak against the elemental magic, and soon his right leg was firmly tied to the bedframe, and Skulduggery reached over and gripped his left.

“Given the circumstance, one might find this kinky,” he tried, his smile as wonky as his lacking humour.

“I’ll be concerned if you get aroused,” Skulduggery fired back, Temper’s left leg now secure.

The air disappeared, and Temper tugged experimentally, chest heaving with dread at how tightly he was bound.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I believe I answered that question already, merely seconds ago,” Skulduggery said plainly with a shrug. He looked around himself, then shrugged again, before beginning to undo his tie. “I told you this the other day, but I’ll say it again: I _need_ to find them and no one – and I mean _no one_ – will stop me.” Temper crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, mindful of the stitches, and raised a brow at the tie in Skulduggery’s hands. “Ran out of bandages,” he answered, then made a lunge for Temper’s arm.

He cried out as Skulduggery wrenched his arms free and, with a few masterful twists, tied them to the bedhead. Temper panted as fight or flight adrenaline ran through his body, but pulling his restraints only served to show how seriously Skulduggery was taking this.

Skulduggery stepped back and admired his handiwork. “Tight enough?”

Temper set his jaw and yanked harder, hoping a knot would give. None did.

“Great,” Skulduggery answered, to himself more than anything. He drew his chair up close again, his hand splaying to the wall, and Temper felt the air-barrier – which, he now realised, had been there the whole time – strengthen. That hand then came to rest above Temper’s stitches, where it had been minutes ago, and resumed tapping.

Temper swallowed, glancing at the heart monitor every few seconds through the silence that engulfed them. It showed his distress, beeping every now and then to alert them of his condition.

“Here’s how I’m going to do this,” Skulduggery started. His voice was neutral; not friendly, not unkind. It was disconnected in a disturbing way. “And please, don’t take any of this personally. I’m going to keep asking questions, but every time you lie or deflect, I’ll tear out a stitch.” At this, he looped a finger underneath the first stitch, proving his point. “Piss me off too badly, and I may let you bleed out. Sound fair?”

The heart monitor beeped frequently now, and all Temper could do with the chaos around him was nod sullenly.

He was in a lose-lose situation. If he didn’t give Skulduggery the information he wanted, Skulduggery would hurt him. If he _did_ give Skulduggery information, _China_ would hurt him. He breathed deeply as he considered his options. China had shown him in the flesh what she’d do, _and_ she knew how to hurt him. Skulduggery, however, never would’ve read that file. He wouldn’t know.

_Plus, he’s my friend_, his mind stupidly added. _Perhaps he’ll show mercy._

So, he swallowed once more, and braced himself for the first question.

“What did Ravel want to know?”

He took another deep breath. “I can’t tell you.”

He’d expected it, but the tearing of his stitch made him cry out, teeth gritting as he jerked in his restraints.

“Temper.” Skulduggery tilted his head condescendingly as blood slowly slid down Temper’s chest. “What did Ravel want?”

He licked his lips, closed his eyes, and shook his head. A few seconds passed before the next shot of pain, and he whined lowly, even as it faded. Skulduggery’s fingers hooked under the next one.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “What does Ravel _already_ know_?_”

“I- I don’t know.” He let out another strained cry, eyes snapping open. “No, seriously, I _don’t know._”

He jumped and cried out when Skulduggery pulled the next two in quick succession. “The bad quality security footage showed you cross-interrogating him. Some of it I could lip-read; a lot I could not. I’ll ask you again: what did Ravel tell you?”

Temper couldn’t give in. He was stronger than this, for hell’s sake.

“He told me nothing.”

The next stitch pulled a scream from his overworked lungs. The heart monitor beeped insistently, oddly consistent amidst the bedlam.

“Six stitches left.” He grabbed the next one, ready to pull, and Temper whimpered despite himself. “Tell me, then, how China planned for you to sabotage me, and, perhaps more specifically, _why_.”

He breathed deeply. “She didn’t tell me anything.”

Another three stitches were harshly torn out, each drawing a barked cry of pain.

“What do you get out of lying to me?” Skulduggery asked, unable to keep the note of anger out of his tone. “Is there some sort of enjoyment you get from keeping information from me?”

Temper stared at him in horror. “Of course not,” he whispered, eyes tearing from pain. “I- _agh_. I’m in a losing situation Skulduggery, no matter what I do.”

“So you choose to lie to me?”

“I-I do.”

He tore another at that, making Temper groan through gritted teeth. The right side of the bed was soaked with blood, warm and sticky, and with that metallic scent Temper always hated.

“Why is China so bent on keeping the Dead Men from me?” Skulduggery asked, voice dangerously low.

“I… I guess you could say she doesn’t t-trust you. Arggh!”

Skulduggery’s pointer finger tugged on the last stitch, almost teasingly. “You know I know that already,” he said darkly. “Once again: why is China trying to keep them from me?”

“She- she has plans for them,” he said dumbly, then groaned. Skulduggery loosened his grip.

“What plans?”

“I-I shouldn’t’ve said that.”

“But you did. So answer me, Temper. What plans?”

He looked into Skulduggery’s empty sockets, and swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

The last stitch came out with a holler, and Skulduggery shook his head as he stood, looking down at the wound he’d opened.

“Why are you being difficult?” he muttered. Temper shook his head, pulling frantically at his bonds. His lungs were working overtime, and the heart monitor’s beeping was as worrying as his heartrate itself.

“You know what upsets me?” Skulduggery started, leaning over him. His elbow landed next to Temper’s arm, propping him up. “This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to hide something from me.” Temper’s blood ran cold. He _couldn’t’ve. _“The personal file you handed me stated you are claustrophobic. However, I’ve placed you in many claustrophobic places and you’ve been perfectly fine. See, the definition of claustrophobia is typically the irrational fear of small spaces, _but_ it is also the fear of suffocation or… _restricted movement.”_ Temper froze, eyes blown wide in terror.

“You… you…”

“You see, in all those scenarios I put you in where you had to crawl or hide somewhere, you didn’t have a reaction. Yet now, after simply being _tied down_, your heart is going absolutely wild with fear.” Temper’s chest clenched in panic, and he struggled, ignoring the painful bleeding and fighting desperately to free himself.

Skulduggery inched closer; an act of intimidation Temper hated to admit worked. “You couldn’t help him.”

“Skulduggery, don’t- “

“He fell before you could do anything.” Temper closed his eyes, trying and failing to suppress the memory.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

_Temper watched his father fall._

_His arms flailed on his descent, grasping at nothing but air. Temper yelled for him, but all that answered was a sickening crunch as he hit the pavement. He raced to his side, wide-eyed as he stared down at the unconscious, broken man, yelling at his comrades for assistance._

_“Please, someone help him! Please!_

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

"No doctors who operated could fix him – his spine was too damaged. You watched his life rot away before you. His paralysis was excruciatingly difficult for both of you.”

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

_Temper stood by his father’s side, surrounded by white walls and beeping machinery. He looked down at the man he admired so much, and sighed shakily. He lay pale in bed, his words muffled as tears invaded his eyes. Temper ran a hand along one of his father’s legs, praying he’d say it tickled, praying he’d move it away and prove those doctors wrong. But he didn’t. He simply shook his head, and drew Temper to his chest._

_“I’m never going to walk again.”_

_“I still need you, father,” he whispered. “I’m not ready to take over.”_

_His father gave him a sad, knowing look. “Then you’re taking over prematurely.”_

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

“Please, stop…”

“Then that night came, barely a year after and, after all those times he’d prevented such incidents, this time he was helpless to defend himself.”

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

_Temper awoke to his father’s scream, and kicked his legs over his bed, rushing readily to his aid. He’d done this so many times following the incident – awaking to his father’s horror-filled sobs and listening as he recounted his nightmares._

_But this time, something was wrong. The scent of blood greeted Temper at the doorway, and he froze in fear when he saw them._

_Dressed all in black, poorly designed masks covering their faces, was the group he and his father had run from for all these years: The Massacres._

_The scene next to them was all the more terrifying._

_His father lay still, no breaths raising his chest. His grey eyes were open, staring with a horror-struck expression to the ceiling; and his torso was torn wide open from a blade still sticking out of his stomach._

_A wave of angry anguish came over Temper as he screamed, and his Gist escaped his chest unbidden for the first time._

_***************************************************************************************************************************************_

“It makes sense it affected you so closely – he was your father, and you followed in his footsteps. That’s why you’re afraid of it now. Your biggest fear is being rendered defenceless – paralysed, the way he was. You can’t stand the idea of dying because of personal incapability. Hence, this fear of restricted movement you so casually disguised under claustrophobia.”

Temper was crying now, uncontained tears streaking down his cheeks. He slowly shook his head as the heart monitor blared next to him. Skulduggery was silent for a moment, observing his suffering, before he stood.

“I’ll be easy on you,” he said almost gently, then took a scalpel from behind a medicine container on the cabinet shelves. “I’ll do one leg to begin with.” Temper thrashed, no thoughts coming to his head other than _escape, escape, escape._ Never, in his whole life, had he felt so helpless.

Skulduggery moved his chair next to Temper’s legs and positioned himself above the right. He gripped the top of his knee. “I’ve always wanted to be a knee surgeon. Now, let’s start back at question one, shall we? What did Ravel want from you?”

“Skulduggery,” he pleaded, “you have to understand- “

The scalpel slit the skin easily, peeling it slightly as Skulduggery used it like a lever above his kneecap, and Temper squirmed at the sensation. “What did Ravel want?”

“A-a lot of things – not all that I – that I know, I- “

“Your deflection skills are awful,” Skulduggery deadpanned, then slid the scalpel further under his skin.

“He- he asked for locations, multiple, I just can’t… Skulduggery, I can’t- “

He yelped in pain when Skulduggery suddenly dug much deeper, slicing the tendons in his knee open. He pulled hard at his bonds and sobbed. “Please stop, please, please…”

“You know what? I’ll make this simpler: tell me everything China and Ravel have told you. Much simpler than answering multiple questions, right?”

“China- she…” he gulped, wrestling against the restraints. “She t-told me, she said I c-couldn’t tell you anything be-because! Because!” He yelled the last few words, to cut off Skulduggery’s painful movements in his knee. “She wants to h-handle Ravel on her own. She said she doesn’t want you too closely involved because of how personally it affects you.”

“Is that why she’s sabotaging me?”

Temper remained silent. “Tell me, Temper, you were told to disrupt me during our universe-hopping trip, weren’t you?”

He couldn’t say yes, could he? China might still send them, and if he said anything now…

“N-no, I knew nothing about the trip until you said- _argggh_!” He broke off into a scream, sobbing heavily as Skulduggery tore the tendons apart completely, before angrily dragging the blade through his lower leg, straight down to his ankle, destroying his calf muscle. Blood soaked the usually pristine-white bedsheets, dying them a hideous deep red. Skulduggery untied his legs, then moved and untied his arms. Temper fought against him weakly, yelping in pain from the two major injuries and impending terror, but was soon rolled over, facing the heart monitor. He was tied into place, laying ramrod straight on the bed, the bedsheet covering him carelessly thrown aside.

“I played fair,” Skulduggery said lowly. “I’m not sure how you expected this interrogation to end, but I’d hoped it would be on better terms.” His weight sank into the mattress behind Temper, and he whimpered. His whole body trembled, the heart monitor still beeping insistently. His heartrate was jittering between one hundred and eighty, and two hundred beats per minute constantly, dangerously high considering his fitness level. “We’ll do this again and again and _again_, until I find a way to make you talk.” _Or until someone finds and stops you_, he thought, but he was too distressed for snarky comments.

He’d been foolishly confused of the position he was tied in, right until the scalpel pressed into a ridge of his spine, somewhere hallway down. He blubbered a bunch of pleas and pulled violently at his bonds. They were still so impossibly tight.

“Start talking, or I start cutting again.”

Temper panted, struggling further as he wept brokenly. He arched his back away from the blade, but it followed, and pressed hard into him, cutting the skin.

His mind exploded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you!” he yelled, never stopping his helpless thrashing. “Just please, don’t do it, okay, I can’t stand it, I can’t, I can’t!” He sobbed, and the scalpel withdrew, taking with it the callous of Skulduggery’s actions.

“What did Ravel want?” Skulduggery asked gently after a moment, his hand closing around Temper’s shoulder.

“He wanted- he wanted- “ Temper swallowed. “He wanted to know when the portal opens. I’m not sure why he doesn’t know already, I just- “

“He’s never been terribly observant with such things, so I’m hardly surprised.” Skulduggery squeezed his shoulder in an almost friendly way. “What else did he want?”

“The- the file of your most recent victim. He didn’t say why, he just asked for her file. And…” Temper’s eyes blew huge. “Oh, God,” he whispered to himself.

“What else, Temper?”

“You – uhm… He…” Temper took a deep breath, trying and failing to control himself as Skulduggery moved to sit in front of him. Temper looked into his empty eye sockets again, searching them for any giveaways that could remove him from his situation; but they were blank and empty, as usual. “He wanted your home address,” he said in a whisper. Skulduggery stiffened, fist moving as if ready to clench, and Temper panicked. “I didn’t tell him, I swear! I didn’t tell him anything, I promise, please I didn’t! He also wanted the location of your witnesses, but I hardly even know them because you’d literally only texted me the previous day, so I didn’t say anything about them either, I swear, I didn’t tell him anything!”

Skulduggery studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I believe you. Just – I’m shocked he didn’t know my address already.”

Temper licked his lips, then raised his eyes to the heart monitor, which was still beeping. He swallowed nervously, for perhaps the tenth time that past hour alone, and willed it to shut up. As if hearing his prayer, Skulduggery reached over and disconnected it, and the quiet of the hospital closed in on them once more, simply stained by the scent and sticky feel of blood. Temper shivered and, being the gentleman he was, Skulduggery recovered the discarded sheet and lightly draped it over him.

“What did you find out from Ravel?” he asked.

“N-not much, just that he’s planning something else in- in the Leibniz Universe. He didn’t tell me what, though.”

“Not even a hint?”

“He told me it was huge, but that was all he said.”

“Mmmm,” Skulduggery hummed. He was writing with his left hand, considering it wasn’t bloodied, and Temper noticed the lack of flourish in the action. “And what has China told you, or asked you to do?”

“You… were right, about the…” he broke off, a sudden, unexplainable panic washing over him. He started struggling again as a fresh, unexpected wave of sobs wracked his body.

“Temper…”

“Please, please, I want to go home, please…”

Skulduggery reached out with a hand, and Temper flinched away, but it met him anyways, delving into his hair and gently scraping his scalp in a way that was oddly reassuring. “Calm down. You’re safe now. Just explain what she proposed to you.”

“I was to lead you away from them, if possible,” he whispered in stuttering breaths. “She didn’t want you to find them. She’s afraid you’ll either irrationally protect or endanger them, before she gets a chance to do… whatever she wants to do.”

“Which is?”

“I…” he thought about this, frowning. He tugged his restraints, almost absent-mindedly. “I don’t really know, she just – she wants to deal with Ravel without you.”

“For the same reason as separating me from the Dead Men?”

“Y-yeah. Uhm…”

“Yes?”

“She- she mentioned finding and closing Ravel’s portal.”

Skulduggery leaned forward at that. “Where?”

“Didn’t say.”

He stayed there for a moment, probably reading Temper’s actions and reactions, before nodding and sitting back. He wrote something down quickly, then nodded again. “What are China’s plans for the Dead Men?”

“Nothing’s solid, yet, but she wants their help capturing Ravel.”

Skulduggery tutted. “I could’ve figured that out, Temper. Come on, now, she’s surely got more than that formulating in her brain.”

“She does,” Temper agreed, “but she didn’t tell me, I swear to you, she didn’t. All she said,” he paused, thinking of the wording. “All she said was if she interacted with them without you knowing, she’d receive answers and… she mentioned serving protection and stopping Ravel from being dangerous. But that’s all, I promise you, she said nothing else.”

“Honestly not sure what I expected to hear, considering how vague China usually is,” Skulduggery commented, placing his notebook and pen away. He leaned forward in his seat once more, his hand hesitantly reaching forward again to bury itself in his hair comfortingly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. A lonely tear escaped Temper’s eye at his words, and he scrunched his eyes closed against oncoming pain and fear. “I hate seeing you like this. You deserve better. Your information truly is invaluable though, Temper, so thank you.” Temper blinked at him, watching the atmosphere dampen to clean off his hands. Skulduggery then untied his wrists, massaging them to restore circulation. He did the same to his ankles, then helped roll him onto his back. He groaned the whole way, eyes fluttering in pain as he lay back, still failing to relax.

Skulduggery tilted his head at him curiously. “Just wondering – you said you were in a jeopardising position, whether you helped me or not.” He propped himself up on his elbows on the bedside table – _had that always been there?_ Damn, was Temper out of his mind. “What did China silence you with?”

A sudden dark dread flooded Temper’s chest. The scythe to his back, the obvious threat…

“She…” His heartrate, which had finally started relaxing somewhat, increased tenfold. His eyes swam with more tears of fear, as he whimpered; “she threatened the same thing you did.”

Skulduggery sat up straight. His jaw opened, as if to say something, but closed just as quickly. His posture changed, and he took Temper’s hand almost pitifully. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered, squeezing it gently. “I owe you for this, alright? I owe you.” The air in the room suddenly became more breathable as the air-barrier was removed. “I need a doctor in here!” Skulduggery yelled loudly, moving from his side in a swift movement. He ducked his head down the hall, calling for assistance, but as the doctors streamed through the door and started fussing over him, Temper realised he wasn’t coming back.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

Temper stood in China’s private headquarters, nerves jumping all over his body. He forced himself not to fidget as he waited. He figured the sooner he told her, the better.

He was still limping wonkily on his leg, considering the minor reconstruction they’d had to do, but the slight disability it gave him reminded him too much of what was to happen, so he looked up from the floor and instead scanned his surroundings.

He stood in China’s dining room-slash-kitchen, with its mahogany table, benches and chairs. The table could easily fit eight people, though there were only six chairs. A clock hung on the wall above where the head of the table would sit, ticking away indefinitely. It was almost deafening, being the only sound apart from Temper’s heavy breathing. He clutched the stitches on his chest with a grimace as he turned, taking in the pristine furniture and decorations of the room, though he was too distracted to properly process what it was or how nice it looked.

“Temper Fray.” He turned to see China waltz in, dressed elegantly in a light gold dress with shimmering jewellery to match. He smile at her and nodded respectfully, though he felt himself faulter. She smiled at him in return, bright and natural as usual. “I see you’re well.”

“Better than yesterday. I think,” he added, under his breath. China made a motion to the doorway.

“I actually have a scheduled meeting in an hour, so perhaps we could talk on my way there?” she suggested. “Unless it’s too confidential to do so…”

“We can talk at your destination so you’re there ready,” he offered in return.

“Quite a sensible idea. Very well,” she said, beaming. “If you’ll follow me.”

Her heels clacked rhythmically along the tiled floors as they walked, a silence settling around them. Although it was usually comfortable, this silence was encroaching, dripping with Temper’s dread, if China’s glances at him said anything.

She led him into a large, open room. It had desks lined up at the back and chairs stacked off to the side. A large projector hung on the wall opposite the door, with large whiteboards on either side. It reminded Temper of a modern classroom, prior to the beginning of a school year.

“My meeting is actually a couple rooms down, but it’s currently occupied, so this will do,” China commented, turning elegantly to face him in the middle of the room. “Have you got information for me?”

There was no point skirting around the issue, or creating small talk, especially with China so professional and assertive. He had to face it eventually, he knew – whether from her, or someone else, the daunting idea that it’d happen had always been over his head, so he’d might as well make it quick.

Temper met her eyes steadily, and all at once, an overwhelming anxiety came over him, and he fumbled nervously. China’s eyes narrowed at him very slightly, reading into his hesitation. He sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked with a frown, though her eyes darkened as predictions formed.

Temper looked down at the floor as shame sank in. It burned over him, as suffocating as his fear. “I told him,” he forced shakily, not daring to look at her. “I told him everything.”

China didn’t respond, but Temper felt the air grow cold around them as she took in his words. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from rambling, to ensure no excuses escaped him.

Because no excuse was good enough to justify foiling her plans.

She took a few steps towards him, slow and controlled, though her hands shook slightly. “You told him everything I swore you not to?” she asked lowly, her tone icy. Temper swallowed, and nodded, and instantly regretted looking up.

China’s backhand stung, and Temper stepped back, before falling painfully to his knees when his legs failed. China glanced down at his right leg, glaring at it almost contemplatively, before turning away from him. A gut-deep dread filled Temper as he heard soft footsteps behind him, and a white-clad figure came to stand next to him. The cleaver unsheathed its scythe, but didn’t move. It simply showed Temper an act of intimidation, one he’d seen a million times over considering he commanded a group of them.

Well, not any longer, he wouldn’t.

“How is it that the _most_ _trusted_ person within these walls was the one who leaked information?” China asked coldly, almost shouting the last words. She spun to him, a fury in her eyes he’d only seen once before. “I explained this to you Temper. I told you how important it was for the Sanctuary – not just me, but the _Sanctuary_ – that Skulduggery knows as little as possible, yet you still saw it fit to voice _everything _straight to him?”

He looked to the floor again, brows drawn together. He’d expected anger and disappointment, but not misunderstanding. China clearly didn’t know what Temper suffered in his feeble attempts to protect her plans. After a millisecond of his mind scrabbling thoughts together, Temper decided it was better this way.

Instead of explaining, he sighed and nodded. “I did.” China’s jaw set, and her fists clenched angrily as she glared him down, a bitter storm brewing in those normally sparkling blue eyes. He wanted to say more, to apologise profusely perhaps; but at the same time the idea of sinking into the ground for all eternity was just as inviting.

Temper just knelt there with his heart in his throat, awaiting China’s next words.

“Did he mention any plans?” she asked, turning from him once more. Her tone was detached and hard to read.

“No,” he answered, voice almost a whisper. “He simply intends on recovering them and taking Ravel down.” He looked up slightly, eyes fixating on a different part of carpet. “He was downright insulted you didn’t trust him with this.”

China nodded stiffly. “Are you aware the portal opened last night?”

Temper’s stomach dropped as he snapped up to look at her, gaping. The portal wasn’t scheduled to open for another couple of days. It had never been this early before, which meant either something’s changed or someone’s forced it open.

Or this was an annoyingly coincidental early opening.

She turned around at his silence, and his eyes flickered back to the floor as he cleared his throat. “No. No I- I wasn’t.”

“Considering Skulduggery’s close monitoring of it and his adamant determination, what are the odds he’s already gone through?”

Temper winced. “Incredibly high.”

China hummed disapprovingly, and Temper’s eyes blew wide when the cleaver slunk behind him. Heart pounding, he forced away the oncoming string of pleas rising in his throat, and blinked away tears threatening to form in his eyes.

China studied him for a moment, eyes raking over his body. They lingered on his injured leg, before roaming back to his face. “Was it always your intention to tattle to him, or were you genuinely on my side for this?”

Temper raised his head, allowing a slither of pride to show through as he met her eyes. “I never intended to thwart your plans, China. _Never_. I side with what’s best for the Sanctuary, and I agree that Skulduggery’s personal life is dangerously affecting his decisions.”

“Then why give him the information he required to carry out said decisions?”

He opened his mouth, his brain bubbling to form some sort of excuse, some kind of alibi. But nothing came to mind.

So instead, Temper just whispered: “I have no reason.”

And that mortifying panic from yesterday returned with a passion as a blade hovered just behind him, bumping into but not quite cutting his back. Those tears formed in his eyes, as uncontrolled as his rapid breathing, and he looked up at China almost pleadingly.

“I made the repercussions of this clear, didn’t I?” she asked lowly, gesturing behind him vaguely.

“Y-you did,” he choked out, a lone tear escaping his eye. He daren’t catch it, for fear of that blade piercing him mid-movement.

Her jaw clenched again as she gave him another once-over. He looked straight down, staring at the carpet as unbidden terror tore through him.

“I just don’t understand,” she said quietly. “You had no reasons, no will for this, yet you _made it happen._” She shook her head, and Temper gasped in horror as the scythe pressed more insistently into him. He held his breath as a couple more tears escaped him, but didn’t dare voice his distress. He didn’t deserve her mercy.

China took a few steps back, running her tongue along her teeth as her brow furrowed. “You would’ve been released from hospital yesterday. Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

He grimaced despite the bubbling trepidation, and looked up at her slowly. “I was busy having leg reconstruction done,” he answered, motioning weakly to his injured limb. “Bed-ridden all night. Came to you as soon as I could.”

His words seemed to soften China’s features slightly, but she frowned. “Ravel didn’t damage your leg,” she commented, eyes narrowing in on him. “Even if he had, your ailments were fixed within the first twenty-four hours. What happened?”

Temper’s heart pounded heavily in his chest as he drew a breath. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” China raised an unimpressed brow, so he sighed. “You really think I gave Skulduggery information _willingly_?” Her face blossomed with understanding, before she schooled herself back to neutrality. She said nothing, not demanding any explanation. She simply took out her phone and, after a few minutes of her tapping away, voices could be heard coming from the device.

_“I’m going to keep asking questions, but every time you lie or deflect, I’ll tear out a stitch.”_

It was the hospital room’s security footage.

China’s eyes widened as Temper flinched, and she glanced at him, before gliding her finger across the screen, skipping segments. He heard himself cry out, before the audio jumped again.

_“Your biggest fear is being rendered defenceless – paralysed, the way he was. You can’t stand the idea of dying because of personal incapability. Hence, this fear of restricted movement you so casually disguised under claustrophobia.”_

He shook his head, eyes closed as he suppressed the memory. China continued skipping through.

_“Tell me, Temper, you were told to disrupt me during our universe-hopping trip, weren’t you?”_

_“N-no, I knew nothing about the trip until you said- argggh!”_

Temper’s eyes flickered open in time to see China wince in sympathy. The audio skipped again.

_“We’ll do this again and again and again, until I find a way to make you talk.”_

There was a pause, in which there was the sound of movement, and China’s eyes locked onto Temper’s, a gentleness in her gaze. He shook his head, tears streaking down his cheeks. He was hyperventilating by now, breaths coming out short and sharp, taking in less oxygen and making his chest feel tight with fear. He didn’t want her to see the moment he fell apart.

_“Start talking, or I start cutting again.”_

But there his cowardice was anyways.

_“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you! Just please, don’t do it, okay, I_\- “

It cut off mercifully, and Temper broke down into sobs, leaning forward to avoid the scythe behind him. China put her phone away stiffly, eyes on the carpet before them. Temper’s heart thudded deafeningly in his ears as his nerves jittered along every inch of him. She swallowed, before looking up, her gaze heading straight over Temper’s head.

“Leave us,” she said quietly, and within seconds the door behind him opened and closed. He drew in a much-needed breath and looked up at her through his tears, his fear slowly transforming into confusion. She looked back at him, and he saw a certain compassion in her eyes. It was apologetic – sympathetic, even, and she grimaced at him as she motioned for him to stand.

He did so, stumbling slightly, and wiped his face. She came forward, standing near him, then all at once placed a hand on the back of his head and drew him in against her. Her arms wrapped tightly around him and, it was so shocking and surprisingly comforting, that Temper began crying all over again. China ran a hand through his hair, not saying a word, and Temper was grateful for the opportunity to let it all out.

His sobs ceased to sniffles after a couple of minutes, and he drew back from China’s collarbone to look her in the eye, and gave her a sincere, though watery, “thank you.”

“I wasn’t aware he’d found that file,” she said with a half-hearted shrug. “Though I should have figured you wouldn’t hand over confidential information quite so easily. I apologise.”

Temper shrugged too. “Was still a cowardly thing to do, breaking that quickly.”

China drew away completely, face masked in shock. “Quickly? Temper, he used a traumatizing memory and phobia against you through physical and mental torture, yet you lasted at _least _half an hour.” She placed a warm hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her, heart speeding at the gesture. “You held out a lot longer than most would. I can hardly imagine how terrible it must’ve felt, being in that position.”

“I did try to hold out,” he said quietly, letting himself believe slightly that no, he _wasn’t _a coward. Everyone had a breaking point. “I just, I couldn’t stand- “ He broke off, hands and sigh shaking.

“I know.” She stepped away, observed him for a moment, then said: “you’re suspended, by the way.”

He hesitated, a flare in his chest begging to argue, but nodded. “Understandable. For how long?”

She grimaced at him. “Until you find yourself a therapist.”

Temper’s eyes widened, and he spluttered. “A _therapist_? China, I’m fine, okay? I’m perfectly okay to continue- “

“Your breakdown just now suggested otherwise.”

He swallowed thickly and wet his lips. She was right, wasn’t she? He’d teetered on the edge of a panic attack over this, and instead hurled straight into a mental breakdown.

He hadn’t considered this until now, but _did_ he need a therapist?

He’d relived terrifying old memories, and remnants of them haunted his sleep. Hell, Skulduggery’s torture and detached coldness had left him frightened on their own. He’d awoken in a panic that morning, thrashing against non-existent bonds whilst sobbing pleas. And even _now_, Temper’s chest felt tight at remembering the event, so he internally nodded. Yes. He needed a therapist.

“Alright,” he said with a weak smile, though it faded quickly. “Don’t think I’d be able to face him anytime soon anyway without one,” he admitted quietly with a humourless chuckle. China bit her lip in thought.

“I doubt he’ll be _back_ for a while,” she muttered. She led him out with a hand on his back. “Would you like an escort on the way home? I’m unsure of Ravel’s whereabouts,” she added at his confusion.

“I- “ He wanted to say no, to maintain _some_ kind of independence, but exhaustion held onto every muscle, so he nodded. “Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

China smiled, and conversed quietly with Bliss, who exited the room in front of them. Temper kept his nose out, too tired to really process what was said anyway, and a moment later China gave him a single nod, and sent him home with Bliss by his side.

Temper’s mobility lived to die another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o :O >:O  
Oh, my lord, what the fu-
> 
> I have no reason to complain, considering I wrote this mess, but this is not only my longest (yey me) but most emotional and probably most gory chapter yet and I apologise but like...
> 
> Yeah. Oof. Hope you enjoyed...


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